La Jeunesse et l'Ange
by glass-jars
Summary: Was originally for the sabriel mini-bang but I actually changed my mind the other day and decided to do something different for the mb. Loosely inspired by Beauty and the Beast, thus the French title "The Youth and the Angel." Several things I am not satisfied with, plotwise, but I don't care at this point. An excuse for flower crowns and angel stuff and college-age Sammy.


**November 2, 2005**

Sam stood staring at Dean and the Impala. The flashing lights of the fire engines and the ambulances illuminated his face from the side, stark and red. He looked down at the gun in his hands. He closed his eyes, and opened them again, and tossed the weapon into the trunk, shutting it with a rough thud. Dean nodded, encouraging.

Sam clenched his jaw.

"I gotta go."

Before Dean fully processed Sam's words, Sam ran. He heard his name, shouted over the murmur of people, and ignored it, willing his long legs to pull him forward until Dean's voice faded away and he found himself shoving his way through the tangled branches of almost dead bushes.

He ran and he ran and he ran. He tripped, several times. His palms gathered scrapes and bits of gravel like trophies and he ignored the sting of his skin and eyes. Followed the November moon. He ran until the street lamps thinned to non-existence and the road turned into a narrow two lane highway framed by dead plants. Sam was glad November in California wasn't too cold, but at the same time wished for at least a brisker breeze to cool his sweat.

He ran for God knows how long, until finally, walking through an orchard, his knees gave out and he fell to the ground. He pressed his forehead into the soft dirt, and turned his head to the side to peer at the barren fruit trees around him. "Shit..." His throat rasped. He needed water badly—had no clue how far he'd come or for how long he'd run, only knew that he'd had nothing to drink the entire time. He gave a hoarse grunt, a heavy sigh, dragged himself to curl around the narrow base of a tree, and passed out. Hopefully someone would find him in the morning.

.

He woke not much later, with a pounding head and a throat begging for water. Lights flitted at the edges of his vision, and he grimaced. There was no way he was dehydrated enough to be seeing things. But the luminescent spheres stayed steady even when he squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. They made a sound like wind in birch leaves and whispering children. Sam rubbed his forehead. The balls of light bobbed in front of him, until one drew closer and came into focus, and he stared. A tiny woman. With wings. Sam gaped. He had to be dreaming. Fairies were not real and never _had_ been—they occupied the list of imaginary things such as unicorns and angels and the Easter bunny.

Yet, a little fairy hovered right in front of his nose. He twitched out half a grin. "Am I going insane?"

The light of the fairy queen—she had a crown of sorts, all tiny thorns and dandelion petals—soured to a sickly orange and she scowled before reaching out with her miniscule hand and slapping Sam's nose. Sam laughed at the spray of glowing pollen that cascaded down his cheek. Then he grimaced, at the sudden pang that shot through his skull, before swearing under his breath and slumping back into a bush. The world sort of swirled around him, contracted and expanded, and went red at the edges. He struggled to keep conscious, and somewhat succeeded.

Sam saw little more than vague shapes—the shadows of the trees and the pricks of fairies glowing around him. They weaved and dipped in a dizzying fashion and it sounded as if they were speaking to one another. Little titters and hisses. Somewhere off to the right a twig snapped, and the ruddy glow of the fairies' queen pulsed.

He saw the silhouette of a man. All Sam could tell was that his profile showed a weak chin and a rather Greek nose, and his hands were tiny.

"Goddammit, Mab." The voice drifted into Sam's ears through a fog of static-y semi-awareness. A long pause. "Oh come on. You expected him to react... how? 'Oh yeah, fairies: totally plausible.' No, Mab." The man laughed when she flared at him again and sent a sibilant hiss at him. "Father up in Heaven... He's clearly not alright. No!" The man held one hand out and the queen's—Mab's—light cooled, settling in his upturned palm. "Lemme deal with Tall, Dumb and Handsome." He cackled. "Now scram, you little shits." He blew her off of his palm.

The light flared scarlet momentarily, before all the orbs disintegrated into the trees, leaving the night darker than before. Sam could no longer make out anything more than the vague white lines of narrow tree trunks. His head twinged and he let himself slip out of the waking world. The last thing he heard was, "You're gonna be okay, big guy."

.

The first thing Sam noticed upon waking up was the intense headache. His brain screamed at him from behind his eyes, red flashes of pain. This rivaled even the worst of hangovers.

The second thing he noticed was the rising sun to his right.

He managed to sit up, and roll onto all fours, and dragged himself toward the sound of water. His fingertips brushed the edge of a stream and he dunked his face into it. The cool shock startled him completely conscious and soothed his too-hot skin. He drank from the stream, then sat back on his heels with a gasp for air, water dripping down his neck and face, under his shirt, raising goosebumps up his arms and back. He breathed deeply and looked around.

"Holy crap."

Directly adjacent to him, a massive wrought iron gate stood firmly in its place. On either side, a tall wall of rough gray stones. The gate itself displayed a level of detail Sam had never seen—twisted devils dragged carts of bodies and angels spread their wings wide and massive dragons tore through heavily armored knights, all in curved black metal. The lock stared down at Sam, a heavy golden key jammed firmly into the keyhole. Sam swallowed, darted his tongue out to lick his lower lip, and stood. He wrapped his fingers around the key—it buzzed with a strange energy and for a second he tasted chocolate—and turned it. The lock clunked loudly, and when he pushed against chilled iron, the gate swung open with nary a sound.

A long path paved with rose quartz gravel stretched before him, leading to the most glorious, decadent mansion Sam had seen in his entire life. (Short as that may have been compared to others' lives.) White stone, sloping roofs tiled in gold, a terrifying array of huge stained glass windows, and even a tower. Countless rose bushes grew around the house—practically a palace—and along the pathway. Sam walked forward a few feet. He turned to the veritable sea of white, yellow and pale orange roses, reaching out to touch a flower. The petals felt softer than they ought to, creamy and delicate and beyond perfect. He saw not a single flaw in any rose, as he ran his fingers from heavy head to heavy head. The only thing less than desirable was the proliferation of huge black thorns lining each stem. He frowned. Beautiful, but strange. Their cloying sweetness made it hard to breathe.

He pulled away from one of many bushes, and immediately found his vision cut off. Something shadowed his eyes. He stumbled backwards, and nearly fell but someone grabbed him tightly by the bicep and kept him on his feet.

"Whoa there, Bucko!"

Sam reached up and shoved the unexpected crown of roses—some sort of conjured illusion or summoned intrusion that had wrapped itself around his head with no warning— up out of his eyes. He frowned.

A man. Middling height—tiny next to Sam—with smallish hands, and that same nose and jaw structure from the night before, and the strangest colored eyes. Like... a little like nutmeg. Golden brown, even green at a certain angle, with hints of purple in the edges of the irises. Striking. The man smiled.

"Where the hell am I?" Sam blinked down at the man. "Who _are_ you?

The man grinned up at him, and Sam felt tempted to describe it as cheeky. "You can just call me Loki." He winked.

Sam's eyes widened. "Oh. _Oh_. Wow. Okay." He pulled his shoulders up, stepping slightly back. He tilted his head, quizzical. Loki laughed at him, loud and full of a kind of harsh joy, and pushed his hair back from his forehead.

"C'mon, Bigfoot." Loki held his arms out wide. "I saved you from Queen Mab! Aren't you gonna thank me!?" He raised his eyebrows.

Sam shoved his hands in his pocket, heedless of the rose crown still perched atop his head in a ring of burgundy and lavender. (If the crown's flowers hadn't been thornless, he might have paid more attention to its presence.) "Uh. Thanks, I guess." His mouth quirked.

"You're welcome." Loki shot him a smug smile. He stepped forward, brushing past Sam and sending a shock up his arm. Sam flinched away from him, and whirled to keep him in his sights. Loki rolled his eyes. "You're probably starving, huh? Come on." He jerked his head toward the mansion.

Sam licked his lips. He _was_ pretty hungry. He shrugged, and followed Loki down the path. The gravel crackled under the soles of his ratty sneakers. Other than that, the grounds remained silent. Not even a breeze dared move the leaves of the rose bushes. Sam's heart beat loudly, threatening to climb from his chest through his throat. He gulped.

As they made their way up the front steps of the almost-palace, Loki snapped his fingers and the double doors swung open with an ominous creak. Sam took a deep breath. Bright, warm light spilled across the porch, brighter than the rising sun's glow and more buttery in color. Loki spun on his heel at the threshold, a sly smile on his lips.

"Welcome..." Loki gestured widely with one hand, planting the other on his hip. "To my humble abode." He winked.

Sam's breath caught in his throat.

The entrance hall gleamed with gold picture frames and candle sticks, and a pink quartz chandelier loomed in front of the mirrored stairs. The walls were off-white and the floor looked like a solid piece of pink and white marble—Sam found no seams for tiles. Nothing. He raked his eyes across the paintings of angels and fairies hung on the wall, and stepped into the hall. The air felt cooler inside. He wiped his palms on his jeans.

Loki crossed his arms. "You gonna stare all day, or do you wanna eat something before you pass out again, Janet?" He eyed Sam.

Sam shifted uncomfortably under the Trickster's scrutiny. "Sorry. Who's Janet?"

Loki snorted and shook his head, and just beckoned for Sam to follow him down a long hallway, to another set of double doors—seemingly solid gold—and into a room that reminded Sam eerily of a violin. He realized this was because the room actually _was_ shaped like the interior of a violin—even had F-holes in the ceiling, filled in with watery pink glass, illuminating the cream-colored walls with a softer warmth. Sam followed Loki to the incongruously modern table at the other end of the room, piled high with all manner of dishes.

"Help yourself, kiddo!"

Sam nodded. "Um... thanks." He spotted an entire turkey, a roast pig, a vat of what looked like mashed sweet potatoes, a bowl of some kind of blackish gravy, a tray laid out with five kinds of cheese, a massive dish of pesto-slathered corkscrew pasta with a handful of cherry tomatoes on top, and an extremely extravagant salad made from three kinds of lettuce, tomatoes, carrots and mushrooms. Various sauces and condiments lined the table as well as a few plates of sweets and even an entire German chocolate cake. "Holy shit." He bit the inside of his cheek.

Loki laughed.

Sam briefly gnawed on the edge of a fingernail. He finally decided it would be strange for Loki to save his life only to poison him, so he sat down awkwardly in the single high-backed chair situated halfway down the table's length, and began to pick and choose from the surrounding foods, filling up a clean white plate with whatever caught his eye. (The plate had appeared at his elbow— from thin air— the second he sat down.)

Loki watched Sam eat, occasionally pulling a handful of M & M's from God knew where and popping them into his mouth one at a time. His eyes never left Sam. He just leaned on the table, the thumb of his free hand hooked through the belt loop in his jeans, a permanent smirk plastered across his face. Every once in a while his gaze strayed up to a spot just above Sam's eyebrows and his grin widened, teasing.

Sam realized he still wore his circle of roses. He stopped mid-bite, blushed, and snatched the flower crown from his head. He glanced briefly at the purple-hued flowers before setting them on the table, out of the way of his pasta. He met Loki's eyes with a soft frown, and returned to his salad.

Loki began to talk.

"You're Sam, yeah?"

Sam shrugged. Swallowed. "Maybe."

Loki snorted. "Alright, Maybe Sam." He crossed his arms, his candy an abandoned thought. "Why on earth were you unconscious in the California countryside?" He raised an eyebrow. "I mean, I get bein' sad about your girl, but runnin' all the way past Saratoga is a bit much." He pulled a face.

Sam stilled. He set his fork on the cloth napkin beside his plate, and placed his hands on the table. Willed them not to tremble. He licked salad dressing from his lips. "How do you know about Jess...?" He clenched his jaw.

Loki leered, and uncrossed his arms, stepping away from the table. "Hellooo, I'm _Loki_. Big Trickster god? I see _all_." He waggled his eyebrows. "If ya know what I mean." He bounced on his heels, both thumbs now slid through his belt loops, casual and relaxed..

Sam rolled his eyes. They both remained silent. Sam allowed himself to continue eating, until his plate was scraped clean and he'd eaten a great deal of what littered the table. Though he generally stayed away from the sweet things. Loki seemed to be devouring those with a vengeance anyhow, and practically inhaled half the German chocolate cake by the time Sam finished eating, though Loki's hands showed no signs of him touching the dessert even once. Sam peered at him from his seat.

"...Who _are_ you?"

Loki flinched, seemingly coming from a deep contemplation. He stared down at Sam uncomprehendingly, until Sam stood. Then he blinked a few times in rapid succession—like he'd forgotten how, almost—and grinned. "I told you. I'm Loki." His smile seemed plastic.

Sam raised his eyebrows, and hummed, thoughtful. "Alright. But who are you, _really_? As a person."

Loki tilted his head back, to look up at the somewhat curved ceiling, and pulled a handful of Skittles from his jacket pocket. He popped them into his mouth one at a time in rainbow order, two of each color, and eventually fastened his gaze on Sam's mouth rather than meet his eyes. "That's a good question." He plucked a chocolate flavored Twizzler from thin air and gnawed on it. "And I ain't answering." He pulled a tight grin.

Sam frowned. He shook his bangs out of his eyes and said, "Yeah? Alright, whatever. Just... I don't really know where I am, and I kinda don't have anywhere to go anyhow so d'you think... Maybe, I dunno..." He shrugged, grimacing.

"You wanna crash here?" Loki smirked.

Sam nodded. "If it's not too much trouble, yeah."

"Good. 'Cause this place isn't actually _in_ California. It's in a pocket of separate time from the rest of the world, shoved between Heaven and Earth." He shot Sam a broad smile and disappeared with a snap of his fingers. Sam stood still for about a minute, brain going through the process of understanding what he'd been told, before he heaved a sigh and made his way back outside into the mid-morning sunlight. He turned his face into the light breeze. He swore. Dead girlfriend, missing father and probably angry brother. Maybe it was good that Loki's home didn't exist on Earth. That way Sam just didn't have to deal with Real Life. (Then, Sam wondered if this place might, perhaps, be situated in Asgard. But, he thought, no. That didn't quite make sense because where were the other gods and why was it so warm?)

He walked between rows and rows of bushes, finally settling down between a line of white roses and a matching band colored like orange sherbet. He avoided the thorns carefully, and sprawled out in their shade, and closed his eyes, still tired from all his running the night before.

.

He woke to the bright glare of the afternoon sun high in the sky, dropping directly across his face. The air had stilled again but the temperature remained the same—a balmy sixty-something. He heard his name being called across the grounds. Sat up, and then rolled to his feet, throwing his arms out to steady himself when the world lurched somewhat. He needed some water or something. He turned to face the house, and saw Loki perched on the edge of the porch railing, waving his hand. Sam waved back with a frown. He made his way toward the mansion.

Loki dropped down to the path when Sam made it to the steps. "Well hello there, Sleepy." He wrapped his fingers around Sam's elbow. "How about some lunch?"

Before Sam could reply, he found himself surrounded by the rushing sound of shifting feathers or fabric or something similar as his sight briefly warped and whited out. The dizziness abandoned him, then, and they stood in a broad green meadow with teeny white blossoms scattered through the grass, feet planted on a stereotypically checked picnic blanket, with a basket just to the side. Sam's forehead crinkled. He sat, and Loki dropped down beside him. Finally muttered, "I could eat."

Loki's answering beam threw Sam off guard. The shorter man dragged the basket closer and opened it, and pulled out all manner of foods—a large jar of lemonade with slices of lemons and limes floating in it, a covered bowl of egg salad, a neatly packed strawberry shortcake, a tin of lavender tea cookies, a thick bar of chocolate, a glass bottle of cola, and two chicken salad sandwiches. Sam watched Loki lay them all out on the blanket. When Loki offered a sandwich, and then the entire jar of lemonade, Sam took them with muttered thanks.

Loki smiled at him, and bit off a large hunk of chocolate with an audible crack. It was the kind of chocolate that you could tell was high-quality just by looking. Dark and strong-smelling.

"Why are you doing this?" Sam picked at the edge of his sandwich.

Loki pulled a face. "What, can't a guy be charitable?" He continued to demolish his chocolate bar—filled with salted caramel. Sam snorted.

"Considering you trapped me in an alternate universe..." Sam shrugged. "Then again, you did chase away...Queen _Mab_." He paused, to take a bite of his sandwich. (And oh God it tasted amazing.) "You know, I'm not entirely certain I'm really awake. This could be some fucked up dream to cope with..." He gestured, and took another bite rather than say the words "Jessica's death" out loud. His face tightened. Withdrawn, but not in an obvious way.

Loki's expression morphed into something pitying, and that sent a sour taste down Sam's throat. He scowled.

Loki opened his mouth, but said nothing, and stuffed his mouth with a handful of cookies. He plastered a smirk across his face and nudged the egg salad toward Sam. Sam rolled his eyes.

Together, they devoured the contents of the picnic basket. The sun hardly moved in the sky, but the air cooled somewhat anyhow, and Sam appreciated that. The heat had been getting to him. He wondered if Loki had a hand in that. Pagan gods, after all, theoretically, could have the power to control the weather, right? Then again, was he actually _the_ Loki, or a Trickster posing as Loki, or something else entirely? Sam just didn't know. Had no way to find out.

Well, other than asking.

Sam stretched his arms over his head and his shirt rode up to expose a sliver of his belly, and he yawned. "Hey, are you really Loki?" He gnawed on the edge of his thumbnail. (A nervous habit he picked up freshman year at Stanford and never managed to drop.)

Loki snapped his fingers, and their surroundings melted and blurred from a meadow to an intimidating library—rows and rows of books reaching up hundreds of feet. Sliding ladders, slick wood, plush chairs... The whole kit and caboodle. "Let's just say... I'm not _not_ Loki." He winked. Sidled over to a large, plush chair—all dusky pink velvet and blood red brocade and golden buttons—and sank into it, crossing one leg over the other and tilting his head against a fisted hand with his elbow resting on the chair's arm. He raised one eyebrow.

Sam turned to take in his surroundings. A beautiful library. A paradise for bibliophiles. Everywhere he looked, books crowded into view and spilled from shelves and lined tables in a controlled chaos of dyed leather and filigreed titles and silver-edged paper. He wandered away from Loki, temporarily forgetting he was supposed to be suspicious, and stopped in front of a bookcase to trail his fingers down the spine of a thick, elegant copy of, surprisingly, _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_. He snorted. Remembered himself. "Well, I guess I'll just assume you're powerful and leave it at that." He glanced over his shoulder, noted Loki's lascivious expression and downturned gaze and gave a violent roll of his eyes. "Dude. I don't care if you _are_ a god. Stop looking at my butt." He pursed his lips and glowered at Loki.

Loki burst out laughing. "Sorry, sorry. Force of habit." He waved his hand with a broad grin. "It's just such a _nice_ ass, you know? Draws my peepers toward it."

Sam glared harder. He turned back to the wall of books before him, and palmed along the spines with a thoughtful expression. He liked how cool and smooth they felt on his hands. He lost himself in admiration and exploration, and only realized how much time he spent picking through the stacks when he turned, and noticed not only Loki's absence but also the heavy hour hand of the clock on the wall inching its way toward six. He gaped. 5:28 pm. He closed his eyes. His stomach rumbled. He gave a snort, and turned away from the books, realizing only then that he'd mired himself deep into the library with no clue as to which direction the exit lay. He decided to trust his instincts and let his feet carry him wherever they felt suitable.

Luckily, he possessed a fantastic sense of direction, and found the doors in no time at all. He pushed them open and stepped into the hallway.

"Hello?"

The light drifting through the windows caressed him soft and warm and gold.

Silence.

He took a deep breath, and followed the smell of food drifting through the halls. He found himself not in the violin-shaped room, but in a smaller room. Cozy and dimly lit, with a fireplace lending a homey copper tint to the sun dripping through the lace curtains that covered the one window. In front of the fire stood a brass and glass table with two bowls of what looked like chili and a clay pitcher of some steaming beverage set on its top. Loki sat in the chair closest to the fireplace, legs crossed, a bottle of chocolate sauce in his hands. He looked up when Sam stepped in and the door clicked shut behind him.

"Chocolate syrup? On... chili?" Sam picked his way around a stack of books, feet shushing through the dried orange rose petals that littered the thick cream carpet. He slid into the chair opposite Loki, cautious but drawn to the simple meal before him.

Loki smirked. "It already has chocolate in it, technically." He set the bottle on the table and the second its brown plastic touched the glass, it melted out of existence and left behind the faintest whiff of sweetness. He raised an eyebrow. "So what's wrong with more? A little added Hershey's never hurt no one."

Sam shook his head with a little huff of breath and reached for the pitcher and an empty mug. The drink flowed thick and hot and when he sipped it, he smiled. It sent a tendril of heat down his throat and through his belly, in a way only certain things had the tendency to do. He closed his eyes, and if his toes curled against the insoles of his shoes, well, he wasn't gonna tell. He hummed, an overwhelming feeling of contentment flooding his veins. He breathed in the rich scent—spicy, sweet and heady.

Loki chuckled and sipped his own. "Mexican hot chocolate." He licked his lips, eyes steady on Sam's face. "Good thing you like it or I'd have to arrest you for crimes against humanity."

Sam cracked one eye open, and sighed quietly into his mug before setting it down and taking a bite of the (very hot) chili on the table. He hissed. "Jesus Christ." Took a drink from his chocolate. Didn't find much relief there. Grimaced.

Loki laughed loud and clear and Sam tended to be averse to clichés, but "bell-like" seemed the only suitable descriptor at that moment. Loki's eyebrows shot up and he leaned forward. "Too spicy?" Something dark glinted in his eyes. Sam flushed and cleared his throat.

"Yeah, I... uh... Kinda grew up on bland American food, you know?" He shrugged.

Loki lowered his gaze to the shining table with a puff of quiet laughter. The firelight turned his lashes honey-colored. "You deprived boy." He flicked his eyes back up, and they held Sam in a still sort of limbo, bright and fierce and amused. Loki snapped his fingers. Sam blinked, and glanced down at his bowl. Something about the chili's color had shifted, and when he took a second tentative bite the flavor spread through his mouth much milder and cooler. He relaxed, and smiled at Loki.

"Thanks."

Loki waved his hand imperiously. "No problemo, kemosabe."

Sam scratched at his jaw, and flashed Loki a smile. They settled into a sort of rhythm then, with Sam eating and letting out suitably appreciative noises and listening attentively to Loki, who wove a wild tale, doubtless completely fabricated. Loki gesticulated around himself, and firelight caught at his nails and the buttons on the cuffs of his sleeves and highlighted him with a warm glow that almost seemed to emanate from inside of him—his eyes, especially, sparked bright with flame and enthusiasm. Sam found himself staring when he'd finished eating, a mug of chocolate pressed between his palms.

Loki appeared not to notice Sam's gaze and continued to wax poetic about a particular adventure he'd had involving walking trees. Sam rolled his eyes at the story. Loki smirked, but kept on talking. His voice dropped in volume somewhat, and Sam let his eyes drift closed. The way Loki spoke lulled him into an unusual sense of ease and sleepiness. The shorter man's slight accent reminded him of home—California was full of bland West Coast dialects and he missed the more Midwestern and Southern mannerisms—and the pitch of his voice drew Sam further into the most ideal levels of calm and comfort. Sam barely noticed when Loki stopped speaking and snapped his fingers.

The firelight faded away into a dimmer, silvery illumination—moonbeams through a tall narrow window, streaming across his chest. Egyptian cotton wrapped around him and a downy pillow found its way under his head. He spared a few seconds to marvel at Loki's apparent power before slipping into unconsciousness. The final thing he was aware of before sleep was Loki's silhouette against the window, with the moon's light haloing white and clean about his head.

.

Sam woke with the sunrise.

He blinked his eyes, bleary and muzzy, and reached his arms above his head to stretch. His back popped and he winced. He noted, with pleasant surprise, that the bed held him with ease—big enough that even with his limbs outstretched fully, his fingers didn't even hang off the edge. Nor did his toes. He grinned. The sheets rubbed softer than a handful of flour on his skin, too. Definitely a plus. He'd never felt cotton so high quality 'til that moment and made a point to roll onto his stomach and bury his face in the pillow with a deep breath. Smelled like sugar and fresh rain. A bit like Jess, which made him wilt a little into the sheets with a sigh, but didn't depress him so much as he might have expected. Something about it soothed him.

He lay still for a long, long time. Until the sun lit the room too brightly for him to pretend he would get any extra sleep. He breathed out a petulant grumble and sat up, warm and more relaxed than he had felt in—if he were honest—years. He rubbed his eyes and his knuckles came away a little damp (not a shock) and he sighed.

What time was it? He looked around the room. No clock. But he wore a watch, of course. He licked his lips and glanced at his wrist and noted the hands frozen on the precise minute Jessica burned away on their ceiling. His stomach twisted and he rolled out of the bed, nearly stumbling in his haste to stand. He shoved at the window until it swung open with a gentle creak, and stuck his head into the slight breeze with a sharp inhale. Filled his lungs with clean autumn air just brisk enough to raise goosebumps on his bare skin.

Sam shivered.

He closed his eyes tight and reveled in the chill of the fall air contrasting sharply with the soft warmth of the mid-morning sunlight.

He realized he was shirtless and pants-less.

"What the hell?" Sam stepped back from the window to look down at himself—his underwear, socks and wristwatch the only thing he still wore. He frowned. Swung a glance around the room. Nothing. Just a little pile of pale pink and coral hued rose heads strewn haphazardly across the surface of the whitewashed bedside table.

"Oh my."

Sam flinched, and spun on his heel to face the door—and Loki leant against the frame. He scowled at Loki.

"Dude, what the hell?"

Loki raised an eyebrow. "Something wrong?" His other eyebrow drew up and he smirked. Everything in his body language broadcast suggestiveness and ready nonchalance. Flirtation heavily implied. His eyes flashed bright. Sam sighed, scraping a palm over his face. He sat on the edge of the bed.

"Where are my clothes?" Sam glowered at the floral carpet.

Loki's light laughter kept him from becoming truly angry. (Why? What was it about that sound that sent endorphins through Sam's body?) He let himself slump back against the bed and waited for an answer.

Finally, "I didn't burn 'em or anything." Loki's footsteps reached Sam's ears, soft and muffled. The bed dipped to Sam's left and Loki continued. "They're in the wardrobe." He clapped Sam on the knee with a grin, leaned into his line of sight, leered. "But hey, I won't complain if you suddenly decide to become a nudist."

Sam swatted at his hand. "Shut up."

Loki avoided him with a chuckle.

Sam huffed and rolled to his feet to make his way to the carved wooden wardrobe in the corner—the only place he hadn't thought to check. Because he was an idiot. Because why would he ever bother to look in a _dresser_ for clothing? He flung the doors open and froze. "Loki..." He blinked at the sight before him. "This is _all_ my stuff. Where'd you get my stuff?" He turned to face Loki with a frown. The god observed him from the bed with a sober expression, eyes shadowed and shoulders set with the way he pressed his hands into the mattress. Sam's face pinched, curious and wary and a little sad.

Loki shrugged. "Just used my magical powers to pull them into this place. Wasn't hard." He reached one hand up to smooth his hair back, and shot Sam a tense smile. "Didn't know what you'd need so I kinda just... brought it all."

Sam's shoulders drooped. "Yeah?" He turned back to the row of his button-downs, the neatly folded stack of jeans, the pile of t-shirts. Balled up socks and underwear. Undershirts. Even his extra pairs of shoes lined the back. He nibbled at his thumbnail. He turned his head to thank Loki, but he'd gone already and left barely a trace other than the plastic wrapping paper from a peppermint. Sam sighed, and dragged a random purple flannel shirt out, and a particularly well-worn pair of jeans, and his brown hoodie (with the fleur-de-lis) as well as his favorite jacket—the blue one that verged on fitting just a bit too tight. The layers made him feel a little safer, and as he pulled on his socks and shoes he thought perhaps having his old clothes might help him cope until he could leave Loki's little alternate universe.

He sank down into a crouch, and rested his forehead on his arms, propped on the wood of the wardrobe. Let his hand curl loose about the back of his neck and sighed and closed his eyes. He needed a moment to just... think, and breathe. Pray a little, maybe. (Because even if his father always insisted angels existed only in the imaginations of religious fanatics, he believed in them and maybe even God._ A_ god at the very least.) He slid his hand between two folded shirts, and pulled the velvet box he knew would be there into the light. Soft and black. He left it closed. Slipped it into his jacket pocket.

"You were gonna marry her."

Sam banged his head on the side of the wardrobe with a hissed "Shit!" and turned with a sharp intake of breath. He pulled himself to his feet. Loki stood in the doorway, arms crossed and visage dark. Sam swallowed a bitter sound, and grimaced, and met Loki's eye. "That's what I'd hoped." He shrugged, spread his arms out, like an act of supplication. Eyes lowered and the sunlight drew blue from them. "But hey." Harsh smile. "That's life, for a Winchester. You love someone and they die." He lifted his hands and pressed his face into his palms.

Loki said nothing.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and watched Sam without blinking even once, for several lengthy seconds. When Sam finally removed his hands from his face, he saw Loki still staring at him, and his eyebrows drew together—expression questioning and a little put off by the sharpness of Loki's eyes and the hardness of his mouth.

"What is it?"

Loki shrugged and turned his gaze to the window. "Just... That's shitty luck, I guess." He scowled. "You seem like a good kid and you didn't do anything to deserve this kinda life. God knows she didn't deserve to die." He huffed and raised a hand. "Actually, _fuck_ God." He pulled a face and snapped a lollipop into his hand, and bit down with vehemence. He rubbed with a thumb at a little scar over his right eyebrow. "He doesn't give a flying rat's ass about anything."

Sam tilted his head. "Aren't you a pagan god?"

"What's that gotta do with anything?" Loki half-smiled, one eyebrow lifted high.

Sam's tongue flickered to the corner of his mouth briefly before he bit down on his lower lip. He gave a wilting shrug. "I dunno, you just... I figured a Norse god wouldn't believe in the Abrahamic God?" He pulled a face.

Loki snorted. "Ain't a matter of belief, Shortstack." He smirked at Sam and leaned forward with a mocking glitter to his eyes. He took another sharp snap at his candy. It cracked loud. "God is a shepherd and He's abandoned His flock."

Sam stared at Loki, tense, before relaxing and saying, "Yeah? Alright." Best to avoid confrontation. He kind of agreed anyway. He turned his eyes to the floor with a falsely serene look. The silence that fell between them then was somewhat awkward, broken only by the crack le of a lollipop splitting between Loki's teeth. Sam licked his lips and looked up. His eyes immediately met gold—closer than before and full of concentration. He avoided flinching (barely) and instead posed a question. "When I pray, does someone hear it?"

Loki grinned and his eyes softened. He raked his fingers through his hair and spoke around his candy. "Lotsa things can hear your prayers, Sammy." He reached a hand up to tap against his temple. "Hell, _I_ can hear your prayers."

"Wait—really?" Sam pursed his lips. "Isn't that like... an invasion of personal privacy or something?"

Loki laughed. "I'm a god. I don't _care_ if I tune in to some poor knucklehead's personal guilt or pleading or whatever the hell." He twirled the stick from his candy between his fingers and its shape slowly melted from gnawed-on white paper to a gold disc. He flipped the chocolate coin into the air and when it landed in his hand again the foil had disappeared. He popped it into his mouth. "Besides! I don't do it on _purpose_." He waggled his eyebrows at Sam. "Prayers tend to broadcast themselves to gods and angels."

"Angels?" Sam's eyebrows shot up and if they went any further Loki would have called them UFOs. Sam scratched his nose. "Angels are real?" He looked skeptical.

Loki shrugged. "Sure. As real as you or me."

Sam broke into a tentative smile. He tilted his head back, looking at the ceiling (a reproduction of Michelangelo's _Creation of Adam_ bloomed across it clear and detailed) and letting out a huff of breath. He ran his hand through his hair. He looked back down, hand on his neck. "Wow."

Loki rolled his eyes. "You met a _shtriga_ in elementary school. Angels? Not such a shock."

"A... what? I don't know what a shtriga is, but angels are..." He gestured awkwardly. "Kind of a big deal."

Loki snorted. He snapped his fingers a few times in quick succession—not to summon anything, but to draw Sam's attention after him as he left the bedroom. Sam followed with a huff of laughter

"I'm not a dog, you know."

Loki chuckled. "Coulda fooled me. You're trained better'n most." He shot Sam a wink over his shoulder, and sauntered his way down a narrow flight of carpeted stairs. Sam ducked his head in the small corridor to avoid hitting the lights that hung from the ceiling. He swung his foot forward with more strength than necessary to attempt to trip Loki, but ended up stumbling when his shoe fazed right through the back of Loki's knee. Loki caught his arm to prevent him from falling down the steps. "Careful there, big boy. I'm a trickster. You don't wanna try and trick me." He gave Sam's bicep an appreciative—if teasing—squeeze before kicking open the door at the bottom of the stairs.

It opened out onto the grounds. The sun shone brighter than the day before but the air whispered colder against Sam's skin. Sam shivered. "I'll keep that in mind." He grinned.

Loki beamed at him with a worrisome twinkle in his eyes.

"...What?" Sam hunched his shoulders warily. He looked to the side and back, and couldn't help but let out a nervous smile when Loki continued to stare at him. "_What_?"

He received a shrug in response, and, "Nothin'."

"You better not prank me." Sam pointed a finger at Loki. Loki cocked an eyebrow.

He raised his hands and effected an innocent simper. "Cross my heart." He winked, and spun on his heel to almost skip toward the labyrinth of rose bushes that made up half of the grounds. (Or, at least a quarter. Sam knew it was a helluva lot, though.) He threw himself down at the base of a flowering tree and crooked one finger to beckon Sam over. Sam scoffed, and walked to Loki slow and steady, and dropped to the ground beside the Norse god.

"Sooo... Are there any, like... seasons? Here?" Sam waved his arm to indicate the mansion and gardens in general. He leaned back against the tree trunk.

Loki pulled one leg up, resting an arm against his knee, and leaned his chin on a fisted hand. He ran his fingers through the grass and came up with a handful of carob chips, which he popped into his mouth one by one while feigning deep thought. He hummed tunelessly. Finally, a wide grin split his face. "Nope!" He flicked a chip at Sam with a short laugh. "I prefer a constant state of spring-summer limbo." He blinked (for the first time in hours—possibly since Sam had _met_ him) lazily.

Sam made a face. "Yeah?" He stretched his legs out, enjoying the sunlight's mild heat, and closed his eyes, with dappled shadows from the leaves above playing across his face. The sun's mid-morning glow highlighted the tip of his nose and the slope of one cheek. "Doesn't that get boring though?" He licked his lips.

Loki frowned. "How d'ya mean?"

"Well..." Sam rolled his shoulders, and cracked one eye open to glance at Loki before closing it again. "I'll use the fall as an example. It's early November, out in the real world. At least, it was when I... left." He rubbed the side of his neck. "And right now in real life the air has that crisp smell, and it's cooling down, and there are orange and yellow and red leaves everywhere, and leftover Halloween decorations, and things like pumpkin spice lattes and sweet potato pie." He smiled to himself. "And then it turns into winter, and if we're lucky it snows, but this is California I'm talking about so..." He shrugged. "But Christmas decorations come out, and gingerbread men show up in every bakery, and it always smells like fireplaces on colder nights." He trailed off, and rolled his head to the side, opening his eyes to look at Loki. A slight flush colored his face and he began to frown. "Sorry."

Loki blinked (and that was twice now!) in surprise. He stared at Sam. "Sorry for what?"

"I dunno. Getting all... expositional...?" Sam grimaced. "Boring you with stupid stuff?"

Loki laughed out loud—strong and vibrant and a little sharp—and reached up to ruffle Sam's hair. "Kid," He leered. "Nothin' wrong with a little exposition." He snorted at Sam's bitchy expression and pulled his hand away, and dug a granola bar from between the roots of the tree, handing it to Sam. "You make seasons sound _interesting_."

"Yeah?" Sam smiled at the bar in his hands before unwrapping it. "Jess always says she likes to hear me tell stories." His face fell. "Well... she used to." He gnawed at his snack with a grim set to his jaw and a gloomy hue to his eyes. He stared at the stark white paint of Loki's house while he ate, crunching in silence. Loki frowned.

He lifted a hand, as if to set it on Sam's shoulder, but at the last second wrapped it around Sam's neck and pulled him in for a hug. Loki was a very tactile person, it seemed. He pressed his hand against the back of Sam's hair, laced his fingers through it back and forth—a soothing motion—with his other hand rubbing circles at the spot on Sam's back between his shoulder blades. "Hush, now." He held Sam tight. "It's okay, Sammy." Sam didn't struggle, but even if he did Loki would've been able to keep him exactly where he wanted him, so that was a good thing.

"Please, don't call me that." Sam's voice came out muffled against Loki's collar. "It's just Sam."

Loki raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Sam shrugged in Loki's arms. "'Sammy' is a chubby twelve year old." He took a deep breath. "Which I am _not_."

"Well... Alright, but you better be prepared for other, better nicknames." Loki smirked and pulled away from Sam, whose face glowed a little pink in the cheeks. Sam tried a simper, and his dimples shadowed just a bit. Loki patted his shoulder.

They sat in companionable silence for the rest of the afternoon.

Sam found himself dozing with the sun hanging around 3 o'clock. He felt drowsy and calm and less frantic than the night Jess died—less like he wanted to waste away in the shadows of a tree. He felt Loki's hand against his arm, a firm but pleasant weight, and mumbled, "I miss her."

"I know, Sasquatch. I know.

Sam fell asleep.

.

He woke to the sound of barking and the smell of bacon. He lay in the same bed as that morning, and the grandfather clock in the corner read 5:45. He squinted at the open door to the bedroom. He was still fully clothed, so his jeans dug into the back of his knees and the belt into his hip and the like. He grimaced and sat up, running a hand through his hair—sticking up every which way. (And why did that happen? Sleeping through the night, his hair would be fine. But Lord forbid he take a nap and wake up with anything but a bird's nest.)

The barking came again. He rubbed at his eyes, and half-stumbled out of the massive bed before shuffling to the door. A Jack Russell bounced up against his shins immediately, yelping with great vigor and cheer. He grinned down at the dog, surprised but not displeased. "Hello, little guy. What's your name?" He crouched down to scratch behind the dog's ears. She wore no collar or any other distinguishing items.

"This is Klondike."

Sam flinched. "Jesus _Christ._" He looked up at Loki with a stern scowl, but ended up smiling right away when the dog licked his fingers. He clicked his tongue at her, then remembered himself and frowned at Loki. "Don't do that, man! You scared the _crap_ outta me!" He rolled his eyes. Klondike hopped into his arms. Loki laughed, winked, and dropped to his knees beside them both, reaching out to rub the terrier's rump. He glanced briefly at Sam and then focused on Klondike, mussing up her ears between his palms and stroking her nose. He made little cooing noises, and kissed the top of her head. Sam chuckled.

"You like dogs, huh?"

Loki looked up, distracted. "Hm?" He scratched Klondike's chin. "Oh—yeah I love dogs. They're so cute, and I can give them orders." He winked again. (And jeez, he was worse than Dean when it came to over-the-top flirtation.) Sam rolled his eyes.

"Dogs are great." Sam let himself sit on the floor, and Klondike clambered into his lap with a whuff. "They're sweet and loyal, and they don't care what kinda person you are." He rubbed his palms down the dog's sides, feeling the soft short fur under his fingers like a living sort of velvet. She radiated heat into his hands. "They love, unconditionally, and unselfishly."

Loki stilled beside Sam, and Sam looked up to find the other man gazing at him with a serious face. "Sam." He popped a breath mint from nowhere into his mouth. "What's wrong?" He held up his hands to silence Sam's protests, and raised his eyebrows. "I don't know you very well, sure, but... Something's bothering you _other_ than your girlfriend's death."

Sam rolled his eyes for what felt like the thousandth time and hugged the terrier close. He breathed in Klondike's smell—all warm and musty and _doggy_—and shrugged helplessly. "I just..." He sighed. "I never really felt accepted, you know? And dogs never gave a shit about whether I'd just moved into town, or what my job was. And even now..." He licked his lips and looked Loki in the eye. "I feel like I'm not a good person and that Jessica's death is my fault, and so many other things... But dogs don't care. And they love you even when you're broken."

"Are you broken, right now?" Loki seemed to have morphed into something much softer and more human since that morning. Less a distant god and more a person Sam could somehow open up to. His eyes were warm.

Sam grimaced. "I've been broken for a long time."

"But Jessica Moore's death wasn't your fault—_isn't_ your fault." Loki leaned his head on his hand and crossed his legs beneath him. He shifted forward the slightest bit, not in an obvious way but just enough that his body language seemed to broadcast the fact that all of his attention had narrowed down to focus on Sam in that moment. He smiled encouragingly.

Sam breathed out a sharp puff of laughter, bitter and unhappy. He shook his head. "It _was_ my fault though. I could have saved her." His fingers tightened in Klondike's fur until she nipped at his wrist, and he let go. He patted her head in apology. Looked back at Loki until he had to look away again. "I dreamt about her death for nights. I should have _known_. I should have saved her."

"Fuck that noise!"

Loki's sudden outburst caused Sam to flinch, and Klondike hopped out of his lap to lick Loki's hand. Sam frowned deeply. "Sorry?"

Loki waved his hand—the now-wet one—and said, "Even if you _had_ known the dreams were prophetic or whatever, you would have had no _clue_ what you were up against." He stood in one smooth movement, forcing Sam's eyes up to keep a hold on his face. "I'm sorry, but at least _one_ of you survived. Better that than both of you dying!"

"But I can't help but feel it should have been me. That I could have saved her." Sam pulled himself to his feet.

Loki jabbed a finger against Sam's chest. "Selfish." He raised his eyebrows emphatically, and planted his other hand on Sam's shoulder. "Sacrificing yourself for someone else is rarely appreciated, because you just leave them behind without their permission." He spread the fingers of his other hand across Sam's ribcage, just over where his heart beat. "And then they resent you for being a martyr." He gave Sam a soft look.

Sam scrunched his face up—rather comically in Loki's opinion—but nodded. "I guess you're kinda right." He chewed on his lower lip, and managed half a smile, and reached down to pet Klondike again—she had begun to whine and scratch at his shoes.

"I'm always right." Loki smirked down at him.

Sam snorted. "Sure."

.

Over dinner, with Klondike pawing at their feet under the table, Sam finally asked Loki, "How do I get back?"

"Back where...?" Loki looked genuinely confused. Then he apparently had some sort of epiphany because his expression cleared and he exclaimed a very loud, "OH!" He pointed a finger at Sam. "Back to Cali, right?" Sam nodded. Loki tapped his mouth with a loose fist. "Well," He bit the inside of his cheek, thoughtful. "It would be pretty easy to get you back to Stanford but..."

"But?" Sam frowned.

Loki avoided his eyes—for the first time since they met two nights before—and flushed a little. "It's just. I get kinda lonely—as a trickster god I don't make much friends, and no one lives with me... And I thought... You seem relaxed and comfortable here... And well..." He shrugged, awkward in a way Sam hadn't yet seen him. "Maybe you could stay a bit longer?"

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but Loki cut him off.

"Don't get me wrong! I just like having someone to talk to who's _alive_!"

Sam coughed into his glass of water. He shook his head with a small grin. "I'll stay, for now."

Loki did a little victory jig in his seat. "Yes!"

Sam glared pointedly at him. Loki stilled and tried to grin less wide. He failed. Sam rolled his eyes (wondering how many more times he would roll them in the future, if he were to stay with Loki for even another three days) and set his fork down on his napkin. "But you gotta let me contact my big brother somehow. I kinda just ran off and I don't want him to think I'm dead. My cell doesn't get service, though."

"Oh, sure." Loki made a face, and snapped his fingers. A rotary phone, probably something from around 1958 and mint green, popped into existence on the table. Sam snorted, but smiled at Loki, and pulled the phone toward him to dial. Dean picked up almost immediately, worried but thankfully not frantic, and Sam explained that he was "going through some stuff" and needed time on his own, and so was staying with a friend in southern California. Dean swallowed the story easily, and Sam wore a big smile by the time he hung up, having convinced Dean that everything was great. The phone melted into thin air the second the receiver touched the cradle. Sam thanked Loki.

Loki waggled his eyebrows at Sam with a lascivious smirk. "No problem, King Kong."

Sam sighed. But he shot Loki a grin.

Klondike yipped from under the table.

That night, Sam woke at nearly two am to a soft rustling sound. He figured it was the dog, and grumbled, "Go away, Klondike." He opened his eyes. It was not the dog.

A figure stood at his window, and he almost leapt from his bed to pull a knife on the man before he realized it was Loki. Only, it wasn't exactly Loki. He was shaped like Loki. Looked like Loki. But he put off a slight glow of washed out gold, and when he turned his head his eyes burned bright with honeyed fire. Two pairs of dream-like wings sprouted from his back and hung half-open, translucent, glittering and warmly lit, with unreal feathers dragging against the carpet. They made Sam think of stardust. As did the halo of the moon around Loki's head.

"Loki?" Sam breathed shallow, afraid to disturb the silence.

Loki smiled serenely at him—Angelically, beatifically. A beautiful smile. Then Sam blinked, and the room returned to its normal, dark, moonlit image. No wings, no halo, no Loki. Just Klondike curled up on Sam's feet, snores whistling through her nose. Sam rubbed at his eyes and lay back against the pillows with a deep breath. He closed his eyes and figured it must have been a dream. Better than his other dreams—nightmares of Jessica's death that made it almost impossible to sleep for the most part. He tried to go back to sleep, and eventually half succeeded in drifting back and forth between semi-consciousness and a practically comatose state.

.

In the morning, Sam and Loki ate together again and Loki explained the layout of the mansion, comparing it to Hogwarts. Sam asked him how far the grounds went out.

Loki grinned. "You ever read _Coraline_?" He leaned forward with his elbows on the tablecloth. He raised an eyebrow.

"Um... No?"

Loki made a comically shocked face, eyes wide and mouth in an O-shape. "What?!" He leaned back in his chair. "That is just a travesty!" He clapped his hands together and the room melted away, whatever remnants of their food shifting to a small table in front of two velvety wing backed chairs. He stood with a gesture, and Sam followed him down the stacks of the library, 'til Loki found what he was looking for and pulled a narrow black book from one of the lower shelves around Sam's hip level. Loki grinned and pressed the book into Sam's hands. "_Read it_. It's great."

Sam scratched his nose with a rueful smile and flipped through the book. Odd illustrations grimaced up at him from the pages, and he made a noise in his throat—a curious hum. "I'll read it." He went back to the food, to finish eating.

Sam finished _Coraline_ fairly quickly—it was not a long book at all, and easy to read—and laid it on the coffee table between him and Loki. He met Loki's stare with a grin. "So, what you're trying to say is..." He let out a puff of laughter. "The grounds disappear? And that if I walked for long enough, I would come back on the other side of the house?" He rubbed his neck, and hooked one ankle in front of the other, leaning back and crossing his arms.

"My world is an oyster." Loki smirked. "Or a pearl, really."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Uh-huh." He reached for his half-empty cup of water with an exasperated expression and noted it refilling itself as he drank from it. Which... was disorienting, but kind of kickass. He tapped his finger on the glass. "That's really weird."

Loki let out a surprised snort, and half a giggle. "Yeah?" He grinned wide and glanced down at his palm before meeting Sam's eyes again with a wriggle of his eyebrows. "Well, I delight in the weird and uncanny.

"Clearly." Sam settled more comfortably into the chair, chewing on his thumbnail.

They watched each other for a few seconds. Klondike snuffled around Sam's feet but was otherwise quiet.

Finally, Sam sighed. "So, how long do you want me to stay?"

"Forever." Loki winked. "Nah I'm just yankin' your chain. How long do you wanna stay?" He looked... hopeful. Sam bit his lip. He laced his fingers together, and met Loki's eyes, and stared for a long, tense while.

"..." Sam tapped his knuckles against his mouth. "I don't really know you all that well, but I _have_ been really relaxed and I don't think I could deal with going back to school right now... So maybe just a week or two, to relax?" He smiled, suddenly shy. "Like a vacation from real life."

Loki grinned. "Yeah?" He pulled a Symphony bar from his pocket and opened it with his teeth, and took a big bite. "Well," he spoke around a mouthful of chocolate. "I'm fine with whatever you want." He licked his lips, pupils wide in the muffled light of the library. "I won't be here all the time but if you're ever bored during the day just tell me and I'll do whatever." He waved his hand.

Sam nodded. "Alright, then."

.

Throughout the next week, Sam woke every night to see Loki glowing by the window with wings. He refrained from ever mentioning it in the daylight. Imagined it was just a dream.

He spent his days reading when Loki went off to do whatever he did—dole out judgment and just desserts—and when Loki stayed home, they picnicked or held long conversations together. A few times they watched movies with a dusty projector and a blank white wall. Sam's night terrors ceased altogether, though he still found himself immersed in disturbingly lucid dreams and weirdly filtered memories of Jessica.

On November 13th he woke at 2 am in a cold sweat with no recollection of what he'd dreamt other than "It was unsettling and violent." It left him worried about Brady and Luis, for some reason.

He brought it up at breakfast.

"Hey, Loki?" Sam kept his eyes on his plate, and scratched Klondike's ears when she placed her paws on his thigh. Loki looked at Sam questioningly and Sam sent him an awkward half-smile. He bit his cheek. "Can you take me back today?"

Loki's face fell. He looked away from Sam but said, "Sure thing, Kiddo." He picked at his pancakes.

Sam grimaced. "Hey, don't be like that." He reached his hand out without thinking to wrap his fingers around Loki's wrist and squeezed gently. "I've had a really good time this past week, but I need to check up on my friends and make sure nothing bad's happened." He pulled his best puppy-dog face the second Loki's eyes met his, and Loki groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Okay, okay!" He laughed, quiet. He pulled his arm out of Sam's grasp. "You're such a damn manipulator, I swear." He pushed his chair back and stood with a sudden grin, and dusted off his shirt. He raised an eyebrow. "First, I wanna stop in the library."

Sam shrugged. "Alright."

In the library, Loki snapped his fingers and a book tugged itself from a shelf and hovered over to them. Loki grabbed it from the air and flipped it open. It was a book of fairy tales and the page it opened onto was the title page of "Beauty and the Beast." An illustration of a white and gold castle adorned the paper just under the calligraphy of the title. Loki planted his finger square in the middle of the page.

"I'm gonna have you do one thing for me."

Sam blinked. "Uh... Okay?"

Loki grinned. "I've become attached to you." He flipped through a few pages without meeting Sam's eyes, smiling to himself. "So I want to make a deal with you."

"I'm listening." Sam sat at the table.

Loki smirked. "I want you to alternate your time between here and Earth." He held up his hand to prevent any protestation—not that Sam planned to say anything. "Spend a week there, and then come back here for a week, and so on."

Sam steepled his fingers under his chin and nodded. "That actually sounds alright." He crossed his ankles. "Anything else?"

"Yes." Loki opened to a specific page, with a delicately rendered illustration of a mirror and a ring. He pointed to the picture. "In this story, the Beast gives Beauty two charmed trinkets. I wanna do the same thing." He looked on the verge of laughter, but also somewhat embarrassed. Sam raised his eyebrows. Loki tapped the paper. "I'm gonna give you an enchanted mirror and a ring, and I want you to check in when you can, and if you get in trouble or something you can use them to contact me. Also the ring is how you travel between worlds, okay?" He licked his lips. He held his palm out and a ring and compact sat on it. "Like the door in _Howl's Moving Castle_." He pointed to the gold ring, which had a black diamond set in one side and a tiny rose quartz on the opposite spot. He slipped it onto Sam's left pinky finger. Tapped his knuckle. "Turn the ring three times so the pink stone is facing down and you'll be transported right here. Black stone down, and you'll show up wherever you want on Earth." He grasped Sam's hand between his own. "So don't just fiddle with it, okay?" He slipped the compact mirror into Sam's palm. "And this can be used to communicate with me. Like a video call."

Sam put the mirror into his pocket and rested his hand briefly on Loki's shoulder. "Thank you." He caught Loki's gaze and gave him an earnest smile. "I'll check in with you tonight, and I'll come back next Sunday morning."

Loki stared at him for a second, then nodded. "Goodbye, Sam."

"See you soon." Sam's teeth flashed. He reached up to muss up Loki's hair, turned the ring with his thumb, and disappeared.

Loki sat in one of the chairs and held his hand out for Klondike to lick.

.

Sam found himself at Brady's apartment, and it was raining. He blinked, and knocked loud, and waited with his hands in his pockets, scuffing his shoes against the step. Brady opened the door after about ten seconds. (Sam counted.) He blinked, startled, then grinned and pulled Sam into a one-armed, back-thumping hug.

"Sam, my man!" Brady held him at arms-length. "Where've you been?" His expression sobered. "I heard about Jessica. You dealin' okay?"

Sam nodded, and twitched out half of a smile. "Yeah. I'm alright." He shrugged, and let Brady lead him into the brightly lit apartment. "I'm staying with a friend down near Saratoga, and he's helped me cope pretty well." He rubbed a thumb over the ring on his left hand. His thoughts shifted to the engagement ring in his pocket and he sighed. "Still hurts, though."

"Yeah? I can't imagine how awful it must be." Brady steered him to the couch and plopped down beside him, snatching up the remote control to turn on the TV and switching to muted public programming. He turned to Sam. "So, are you back for good?"

Sam scratched the back of his neck, and bit his lip. "I don't think so." He let his head tilt to rest against the back of the couch, slouching against the cushions, and closed his eyes. He rubbed his mouth. "Dunno if I can deal with school, honestly. And I missed my interview. Think I'll be switching between spending time down with my friend and spending time up here. Every other week." He shrugged.

"I hear you." Brady stretched an arm out along the couch arm. "So who's this friend you're staying with?" He eyed Sam. "I mean, you never mentioned anyone from the south of the state."

Sam avoided his look. He sighed. "Just a guy I met recently—Loki. He's weird, but nice. And helped a lot when I almost got myself killed in the middle of the forest." He grimaced. "God I'm an idiot."

"I'll say." Brady snorted, and crossed his arms. "I heard you just ran off after... the accident... and when no one heard from you for a week, well..." He pursed his lips. "We assumed the worst. Some pretty boy and an old dude came by and nearly broke down the door looking for you."

Sam sighed. "That'd be my big brother, and probably a uh... colleague of his." Sam wouldn't have been surprised if it were old Bobby Singer, considering he helped raise the two of them and Sam imagined that he'd be the first person (other than dad) Dean would go to for help when it came to Sam. Sam felt infinitely more glad he'd had the chance to call Dean, in that moment. Wouldn't do to have Sam's closest family worried sick over him. He shook his head. "They get a bit overzealous at times."

Brady laughed. "Yeah? Well I hope you told them you're alive! They'd probably destroy Stanford."

Sam snorted. "Yeah. I told 'em."

"That's my boy." Brady clapped Sam's shoulder. Sam shrugged it off and rolled his eyes. Brady grinned at him, and continued on to say, "Anyway! Are you hungry or anything? Luis is dropping by in like ten minutes—we're going to a party and he's giving me a ride because I wrecked my car." He yawned, and stood, and stretched. "You wanna come with, or just stay here, or what?"

Sam stood as well, and shoved his hands in his pockets awkwardly. "I think I'll sit this one out, Brady. But uh..." Sam grimaced. "There a chance I can crash here for a week?" His eyebrows drew together, and he couldn't help but gnaw on his lip. Brady chuckled and squeezed Sam's arm.

"Hey, it's fine. Lemme just heat up some leftovers for you, and set up somewhere for you to sleep." He strode into the kitchen. Shouted, "You want anything specific?"

Sam smiled. "Anything is good. Thanks a lot, man."

"No problem!"

.

Sam lay on the fold-out couch/bed in the living room, staring at the ceiling and turning the compact mirror around in his hands, idly. He held it up to the light, looked for any sigils and found none. Curious. He flipped it open and watched as an image came to life across the glass. The view was of an extravagant bedroom, and Sam imagined it belonged to Loki. Especially considering Loki stood at the window with his hands behind his back and the dog sniffing at his pants. Sam cleared his throat. Loki flinched, and turned his head, before smirking.

"Heya, kiddo." He sauntered closer—and Sam realized they must be communicating with a large vanity mirror—and sat down closer to Sam's view. He clasped his hands under his chin and leaned on his elbows. "What's up?"

Sam grinned. This was beyond cool. "Nothing, really. I'm staying with my friend Brady for the week." He shrugged, and adjusted the pillow behind his head. "He's at a party right now, though, so I figured I'd uh... call you. Is that the right word?"

"It's the right word." Loki snorted. His expression grew mellower. "Glad you're managing alright."

Sam pushed his bangs back from his eyes. "Yeah. Me too."

They fell silent for several seconds, but then Loki asked if Sam wanted a "bed time story," so Sam indulged him, and nodded, and Loki began to read from his book—"Beauty and the Beast" of course—until Sam felt himself nodding off and said, "I gotta go, I think." He blinked sleepily at Loki.

Loki rolled his eyes but his eyes were soft and he smiled. "Night, you big oaf."

"Goodnight." Sam slipped the mirror into his pocket.

Brady returned as Sam drifted off to sleep, sneaking quietly through the front door so as not to wake him. Sam rolled over in his half-awake state and Brady slipped into the hallway.

.

It turned out Jessica's funeral was that very week. Sam bought some nicer clothes than he had on him, and on Wednesday Brady and Luis and a few other friends and acquaintances accompanied him to the service. It was a sunny day, with a slight breeze. Jess would have loved it. Sam left flowers on her grave, and sat in front of it until his knees grew too sore to stay, and he sent a prayer up for her—for Heaven to be a kind and good place, though he somewhat doubted Heaven's existence.

If he cried a little bit, no one said a thing. (Jess' old roommate from freshman year bawled her eyes out for a full ten minutes.)

He spent the rest of the week generally relaxing and catching up with old friends and trying to sleep well despite the return of his nightmares. It almost snowed on Saturday, and he sat on the curb in front of Brady's apartment complex watching half-formed droplets of snow melt on their way toward the ground.

He checked in with Loki every evening, even if just to exchange a quick, "Good night, I'm doing well, see you soonish."

On Saturday night Brady and Sam sat together on the couch watching reruns of Futurama.

"Hey, Sam, there's a party tomorrow night." Brady looked over at Sam. "You really should come."

Sam bit his lip and puffed out a thoughtful breath of air. He looked down at the ring on his pinky. "I told Loki I'd be back tomorrow morning, but..." He shrugged. "I mean, I'm sure he'd understand."

"Exactly! It'll be fun!" Brady grinned broadly, and Sam shook his head.

"I'll call him, later, and tell him."

"Awesome!"

.

"Hey, Loki." Sam nibbled at his lip, avoiding Loki's gaze. Too sharp and too gold for him to meet, when it was highly likely they'd soon be clouded over with mild disappointment. He felt bad, just a bit. He pulled a face. "I was thinking, maybe I'd stay here—just one more day though." He rubbed the back of his neck. When Loki didn't respond right away he hazarded a glance at the mirror.

Loki stared at Sam sadly. "Of course." He fiddled with a yellow rose, twiddling away the petals between his fingers and pulling them off so they withered and crumbled into dust right away. "I wouldn't want to make you come back if you don't want to. It's your choice, after all. And you know them better than you know me." He looked toward the moonlit window.

"Don't be like that." Sam pouted. (Would never admit to it.) "It's only one more day—I'm still gonna come back!" He grinned reassuringly.

Loki pulled a Jolly Rancher from his pocket and popped it into his mouth with a small frown. "Promise? This house is really big and quiet with no one else to talk to."

"Promise." Sam laughed, quietly. "Now I'm going to go to bed, but don't get too lonely without me." He raised an eyebrow. "Make Klondike sleep in your bed or something."

Loki's smile was wide but didn't reach his eyes. "Night, Kiddo."

"Be back soon."

Sam closed the compact.

Later in the night he had half a mind to take it all back and call off the party and apologize to Loki. he opened the mirror and it showed him an empty room and a petal-less rose stem with dark thorns down its length, sitting in a glass vase. He closed his eyes with a sigh, and slipped it back into his pocket.

.

Luis pulled up around 10 pm in his car. He honked. Brady dragged Sam outside and shoved him into the back seat with a crowed, "This is gonna be awesome!" Sam laughed but buckled himself in. He noticed neither Luis nor Brady bothered with seat belts. It struck him as a little odd but he just shrugged to himself and watched the street whizz by outside the window.

When the car stopped, it was not outside of a party, or even a house.

A warehouse.

"Guys... Where are we?" Sam frowned.

Brady looked around the seat at him with a broad leer. "Wouldn't _you_ like to know." His eyes flashed black.

Sam's eyes flew wide, and his breath caught in his chest as he attempted to unbuckle. The belt was jammed. He pulled fruitlessly at it with a grunt. Brady laughed loud and harsh, and his hand moved in a sharp movement.

Sam felt a stab of pain, and his vision flickered out.

His last thought was, "I should have gone back when Loki wanted me to."

.

Sam awoke in darkness. For just one frantic moment he thought he'd gone blind, but then he saw the barest of movements in the blackness and relaxed as best he could—tied to a plastic chair, mouth duct-taped over, hands bound behind him and legs tied together. He struggled, to no avail. Breathed out loudly through his nose.

Lights flicked on and sent a sharp pain through his eyes, too bright after such total dark. He squeezed his eyes shut and may have grunted but any noise he made seemed nonexistent compared to the clatter coming from behind him. A screeching of metal that made him wince. Finally the noise ceased, and he blinked open. The light still shone too bright but hurt less now that he'd adjusted a tad. He turned his head as much as he could to look behind him.

Brady stood, eyes jet colored and shiny, with his arms crossed and his feet planted wide, a devilish sneer on his face. Luis stood behind him, and in the shadows of the outside world, just slightly picked out by the moon's light, Sam saw a strange man with yellow eyes.

Sam growled and tugged at his restraints again.

Brady's laugh cut through the bright room, knife-like and darkly amused. He walked around the chair until he stood directly in front of Sam and said, "Oh, Sam Winchester. How we've waited for this day." He raised a hand, idly studying his palm, before leveling his black gaze on Sam's face and swinging his arm to land a hard blow on his cheek that left Sam seeing tiny black dots and static.

Sam gritted his teeth and glared at the demon before him.

It laughed again. "I know what you're thinking." He winked. "What sick bastard has possessed your good friend Brady?" He bared his teeth in a sharp grin. "Well, let's just say dear old Brady hasn't been himself in a very long time—not since, oh, fall of sophomore year?" His grin widened until Sam thought it might crack his face in two. Sam scowled.

Brady just continued. "And isn't that a shame? None of your friends were real, Sam." Brady—the demon—stepped closer and laid his palm against Sam's cheek. "And I killed Jessica."

Sam snarled through the duct tape and Brady chuckled. "Oh, you wanna say something?" Brady ripped the tape from Sam's mouth in one movement and Sam let out a shout. His lips pulled back in anger.

"You bastard!"

Brady only shook his head with a knowing smile. "That I may be... But Sam, Sam, Sam..." He studied one of his fingernails. "When I burned your blonde little bitch on the ceiling, you were supposed to take up hunting... Kill some things, grow into your ESP, start the Apocalypse, and become Lucifer's meatsuit. The whole shebang." Brady sighed, seemingly disappointed, and shook his head. "Too bad you're just a coward." His voice dropped and he grasped Sam's chin in his fingers—cold and vice-like. "I guess we'll just have to help you in the right direction." He snapped his fingers.

Luis appeared at Brady's side, eyes just as black and expression just as haughty.

Sam glared at them and tugged against his bindings. No luck.

A smooth voice came from behind him, and Sam craned his neck to see the handsome older man who'd stood in shadows before. The yellow-eyed man. The man who had killed Mary Winchester when Sam was six months old, according to John. Sam's nostrils flared. "_You_."

"Call me Azazel." He winked. Almost seemed friendly, his charisma was so high.

Sam turned his face back to Brady.

Brady held a syringe in one hand, and a half-empty vial of what looked like blood in the other. The syringe clearly held the rest, glittering clean and full of red so thick it verged on black. Sam bit his lip.

"Get away from me, you monster!" The ropes dug tighter into his skin and he let out a grunt.

Brady set the vial on the floor and held the syringe out as he drew close enough for Sam to feel the cold radiating off of his body. "It's rude to call people monsters, whether it's true or not." He raised an eyebrow. Sam heard Azazel chuckle smoothly.

"Screw you."

Brady clicked his tongue, and jammed the needle into Sam's neck. A strangled shout escaped Sam's throat and he threw his head back, pulling at his restraints in some attempt to get away. The blood sent shivers racing through his limbs, and he keened. It hurt, but it felt _right_. It felt invigorating.

"What the fuck are you doing to me?" Sam bit down on his lower lip until it bled, metallic and salty.

Brady twirled the syringe between his fingers. "Demon blood." He smiled, and tapped his shoe against the concrete floor. Behind him Luis stared Sam down. "It'll make you feel really good, just you wait."

"You're my chosen prince." Azazel murmured.

Sam shuddered.

Brady shot another dose of blood into Sam's neck, and it thrilled through his veins in a way that both disgusted him and made him crave more. His eyes locked on the vial in Brady's hands. It drew him. His hands shook, behind his back.

Azazel laughed.

For hours, they injected him with this... This venom. This blood. He struggled, but felt himself leaning toward the needle, needy, wanting, even as he wished to escape.

He felt power burning in the back of his throat.

He remembered the ring on his finger.

Eyes shut tight, breathing hard, demon blood filling his thoughts... he fidgeted. Turned the ring around his pinky once, twice...

"Ah ah ah... Can't have that." Azazel moved forward faster than Sam could sense, and before he's processed what had happened, the ring was gone. Sam craned his head back and glared at Azazel, who held the ring up to the light. "What a pretty little trinket." Azazel grinned. His yellow eyes flashed. "I'll have to get rid of it." The ring went up in cold blue flames in his palm, and rivulets of molten gold trickled between his fingers and splattered to the dirty floor. The gems cracked and crumbled to dust in his grip.

Sam clenched his jaw.

Brady moved toward him and he tensed, and a flash of pain pulsed behind his eyes. The ropes around his wrists and ankles snapped and he surged to his feet with a grunt. "Get away from me!" He reached for Brady, but Brady disappeared with a pop. Sam found himself tackling Luis to the ground, fastening his hands around his throat, with the words _Get out Get out Get out_ running loud and hot through his head. He found his eyelids growing heavy, slipping shut, and shuddered. Something moved through his veins and his brain in dark, aching pulses, and beneath him Luis gasped and let out a strangled protest.

Sam felt thick smoke curling up his arm and brushing past his ear. Heard the sound of a demon screaming from it. Beneath him Luis writhed. Shouted for mercy.

Brady yelled, and Sam raised his free hand with a snap of motion. Another shout, and then silence. Azazel's shoes scraped across concrete and Sam opened his eyes as the last of black smoke poured from Luis' mouth, and stood, and turned to face Azazel.

Azazel smiled at him. "Brady. Teach this boy a lesson."

Brady pulled himself to his feet from the spot Sam had sent him flying. A gash in his forehead knitted itself together and he cracked his neck. "Gladly." He raised his arm. Sam's body froze. Immobile. He ground his teeth. Brady drew closer, and closer, until they stood toe to toe. He held his hand up and looked at it almost casually, until it began to glow. Bright, bright yellow tongues of fire began to lick up his fingers and he turned a fiendish grin on Sam before reaching out quick as a shot and wrapping his fingers across Sam's face.

Sam screamed.

He fumbled around in his pocket for his mirror. Drew it out and promptly dropped it the second he managed to get it open—his hands trembled too violently. Unable to move his feet or pull away from Brady's burning hand, Sam whimpered. His knees felt week but he couldn't fall to the ground. Brady chuckled and kicked the mirror hard enough that it slid across the high-ceilinged room and slammed into a cement wall hard enough to crack with a loud crunching sound.

Sam let out an agonized whine.

Brady finally released him and Sam fell to the cold concrete, shaking and panting. His face had gone numb which was both a relief and worrisome. He could hardly see, with his eyes swollen shut. He breathed shallow and fast on the floor. Above him, Brady laughed, and kicked him—once, twice, three times, more—in the gut and chest respectively, 'til Sam yelped out shrill, unintelligible pleas.

"Enough."

Brady's presence receded.

Azazel's replaced it, and Sam heard the man crouch down at his side. His breath gusted against Sam's ear. "You've been troublesome, but I need you. So I won't kill you." He chortled. "Yet."

Sam let out a soft, pained noise.

Azazel laughed.

Then let out a choked gurgle.

"Hey, you!" Loki's voice. Strong and with a depth Sam had never heard. Glass cracked and popped somewhere overhead. "Get your damn hands off him." The ground trembled.

Sam's eyes still wouldn't open—in retrospect he realized that was a very good thing— but a flash of hot light cut through his eyelids and Azazel let out a violent screech. The light dimmed, and the world returned to black. Sam moaned. He heard a rustle of wings, and felt the soft press of Loki's fingers against his face. He squirmed toward the sensation. A warmth like summer heat spread from Loki's palm, through Sam's skin, accompanied by a soft glow. Sam sighed into Loki's touch.

All too soon, Loki drew his hands away. "You okay, honeybunch?"

Sam rolled onto his back with shocking ease, and let out a puff of breath. He squinted at the ceiling, blinked a few times in quick succession. The room had gone dark, but for a gentle glow to his right. Gravel shifted under his jacket. Sam turned his head, and sucked in a startled breath. "Loki..."

Loki knelt beside him, emanating a starry golden light. His eyes sparkled strangely, caramel-colored and deep, and a disc of light framed his head and highlighted his hair bright and clean. Two pairs of translucent, glittering wings, glass-like and stunning, stretched from his back imperious and broad. The feathers rustled and tinkled like chimes when Loki shifted closer to Sam. Sam reached out and wrapped his fingers around Loki's wrist. Loki smiled. "Hey there, kiddo." The nickname sounded familiar yet strange in Loki's new, vastly more powerful voice.

Sam gave him a weak grin, a little watery at the edges, and said, "Thank you."

"Aww shucks." Loki smirked. "Let's get home."

Sam nodded.

"Home..."

.

Sam regained consciousness in an armchair by the fire, with Klondike curled up in his lap. He blinked slow and careful. Sorted through the memories dancing through his head, eyes focused on the dog lounging across his thighs. Finally, he looked up, at Loki standing in front of the window.

Not glowing. No wings. Totally normal.

Snowflakes drifted past the pane lazily.

"I thought there were no seasons." Sam bundled Klondike into his arms and stood, taking mincing steps toward Loki—he still felt like a bowl of Jell-O, with shaky knees and a muffled headache. He stopped beside Loki. Looked out onto the grounds.

White snow dusted the entire outside world in soft, perfect drifts. The roses continued to bloom strong and perfect, and the orange trees further out near the garden still drooped under the weight of ripe citrus fruits.

Loki shrugged. He smelled strongly of chocolate and whiskey. "I was curious."

Sam snorted. "I see." He scratched Klondike's tummy and she snuffled in her sleep. He looked at Loki's face, illuminated in coppery firelight from behind and silvery moonlight reflected off the snow from the front.

Loki turned his eyes on Sam. He smirked. "Gonna stare at me all night?"

"Thank you, Loki, for saving my ass back there." Sam smiled earnestly.

Loki's shoulders rolled in another smooth shrug. Nonchalant, yet strangely tense. "Well, there's a shortage of perfect asses in the world." He winked at Sam. "It'd be a pity to damage yours, you know?"

Sam sighed. He shook his head, but grinned. "I'm not Princess Buttercup."

"Then who _are_ you? Prince Humperdink?" Loki laughed, and turned to lean his elbows on the window sill, and looked up at Sam with an odd softness in his eyes. "You're never leaving the grounds again though, so maybe you really are the princess and_ I'm_ the lousy prince." He waggled his eyebrows.

Sam snorted. "Right." He took a breath of the chill air curling out from the crack between glass pane and window sill, and stepped back. Klondike wriggled in his arms. "Well, I think I need to go to bed. So... goodnight?"

"Nighty night." Loki smirked.

Sam lay in his bed that night thinking about the weird fierce glint in Loki's eyes—the steely challenge—when he had said Sam would be staying on the grounds. Sam thought he was joking, but something about that possessive expression told him he might want to be more wary of his trickster friend.

.

Sam woke in the middle of the night. The room was bright with reflected light from the snow—tinged slightly pink, like the dusky clouds laying low on the horizon outside of the window. He sat up with a yawn, and Klondike shifted at his feet.

"Sorry." Loki's voice came quiet from the door. "Didn't mean to wake you."

Sam smiled at him, and gave a sleepy little wave. "C'mere." He patted the mattress. Loki chuckled, and walked over to slip under the covers beside Sam. Their combined body heat made the bed warm, but not uncomfortably so.

Loki nestled against Sam's side. "Listen, Dimples." He huffed out a soft little laugh against Sam's shoulder. "You really scared me." He reached his hand down, and twined their fingers together briefly, before pulling away and turning to sit cross-legged facing Sam. He fiddled with the edge of the sheets and looked up at Sam. "So... just be more careful." He looked away.

Sam slouched a little, and kept his eyes on Loki's hands. "I'll try." He smiled.

A line of deep red roses, connected by twined stems, began to materialize from Loki's fingertips. Eventually Loki met Sam's gaze again, and he twisted the roses into a loop, and reached up to place them on Sam's head. "Just like when you first wandered in." He grinned. "Cute."

Sam laughed. "You're ridiculous."

"You love it."

Sam rolled his eyes.

Loki leaned up and pressed his mouth to Sam's, settling his hands loosely on his shoulders. Sam's breath hitched, but he didn't pull away. Not until Loki's tongue flicked out against his lower lip. Then a sigh punched from his chest and he raised his hands to push Loki back a little bit. He gave Loki an apologetic smile, and muttered, "I can't."

Loki turned his eyes away and the moonlight caught in them bright and pale. "Too soon, huh?" He smirked tightly.

"I still miss her too much."

Loki shrugged. "Sorry. I'll just..." He gave an awkward laugh, and snapped his fingers.

Sam was alone in the room, but for the dog and the crown of flowers tangled in his hair. He rubbed a hand over his face with a sigh.

.

"I've got to call my brother. Or..." Sam frowned. "Or something."

Loki looked up from where he sat by one of many fireplaces in the library. A worn copy of _Spindle's End_ balanced on his knee. He raised an eyebrow, and said nothing, questioning but not pressing. He closed his book.

Sam shrugged, as if answering an unspoken question. "It's just... The yellow eyed demon—My dad, and Dean, have been looking for that thing since... Since forever." His foot tapped on the floor, quiet and staccato, and he sighed. "I figured it'd be good to tell them, you know?" He met Loki's eyes.

"No problem, kiddo." Loki winked and gestured off to Sam's side. Sam looked to the table beside him. His cellphone glowed up at him with the strongest signal he'd ever seen and a fully charged battery. It had been dead since he got to Loki's enclosed universe but clearly that no longer posed an issue.

Sam grinned at Loki and flipped his phone open to dial Dean.

It rang just for a few seconds.

"Hey little brother! You still doin' okay? Sure you don't wanna hunt with me—"

"Dean!" Sam cut off his brother's inevitable tirade as best he could. "Dean, shut up for a second. I have something to tell you." He stood, fidgeting, and drifted away from the fireplace. He wandered to a tall stained glass window and squinted through the colors at the heavy snow and the immaculate roses littering the grounds.

Dean could be heard shifting, probably preparing for bad news. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Yellow Eyes is dead, Dean."

Utter silence greeted Sam. And then a squawk, some thuds, spluttered "What?! When?! What the hell, Sammy! What happened?!" Dean fell silent. "You're okay, right?"

Sam laughed, bigger than he had in a while—discounting when Loki made terrible, terrible jokes—and passed his phone to the other hand. "I'm fine, Dean. I swear." He leaned on the window sill. "Turns out some of my friends were demons, and some shit happened, but the guy I'm stayin' with showed up and blasted their asses—specifically, he like... I don't know what happened, precisely, but he really did a number on the yellow eyed bastard."

Dean laughed and it came out tinny through the phone speakers. Sam imagined how happy he looked, and wished he could be with his brother just for a minute. He bit his lip and looked back over his shoulder. Loki sat watching him beside the fire, with his hands folded on his book. Sam looked away.

"Whatever, man!" Dean was probably laying on a shitty motel room bed at that point. "Sounds like this dude is pretty serious business but I'm glad he helped you out and ganked that son of a bitch. Just be careful around him, and... I dunno... try to keep some salt on hand."

Loki snorted from his seat and Sam shot him an apologetic smile.

"Shut up, Dean."

Dean remained quiet for a minute before speaking up again. "So when are you gonna come back, huh? Hunt."

Sam closed his eyes, but not before he saw Loki stiffen. He sighed. "Dean, it's not..." He had no words he could use to explain why he couldn't hunt. He'd used them up when Dean broke into his and Jess' apartment and repeating them would only irritate both of them. He settled for, "You know I never liked hunting."

"What, he got you all locked up as his prisoner or something?"

Sam heard a scrape and thud, and winced. He kept his eyes closed and waited for the door to the library to slam before replying slow and annoyed. "Dean, he can hear you."

"Oh."

Sam ran his hand through his hair. "Yeah, I think you pissed him off." He glanced over his shoulder, finally—_Spindle's End_ lay on the floor, and the coffee table between the chairs was further from the fireplace than before, with an abandoned mocha spilt across it. Sam grimaced.

Dean, of course, did not apologize. "Whoops." A gust of breath crackled over the line. "Whatever, man, can you just see if he'll let you come and play for a bit?" Sam could practically hear the cheeky expression doubtlessly plastered across Dean's face. He rolled his eyes.

"Sure, Dean. Sure." He stepped away from the window. "Might be pointless though considering the last time I left this place I almost got killed. But okay, Dean. I'll try to ask a millennia old trickster god— who hasn't interacted with a live human in years, other than to dole out justice, by the way— if I can just take a stroll through the dangerous real world to hunt monsters. Easy." He sat on the edge of a nearby table. "He's a little clingy. Since I'm his only friend. He told me he didn't want me to ever leave the grounds again. I'm not sure if he was joking or not."

Dean sucked in a breath. "Jesus."

"Not Jesus, Dean. Loki."

Dean laughed. "Okay, Sammy." Sam didn't doubt he rolled his eyes. "Just try, okay?"

"Bye, Dean." Sam stuck his free hand into his pocket. His fingers touched velvet, and if he were honest it relaxed him.

"Bye-bye, bitch."

"Jerk."

Sam snapped his phone shut and slid it into his other pocket. He straightened but remained in one spot. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, but when a whine broke the silence he opened them and looked to the door. Klondike sat with her head cocked and her eyes big and concerned. He went to her and scratched her ears, before noticing a note tucked into her collar. He unrolled it, kneeling beside the dog so she could rest her head on his thigh, and flattened the paper across the floorboards.

_Crumpet—_

Sam snorted and rolled his eyes.

_Crumpet,_

_I'm at one of my other houses right now but I just wanted to let you know that if you wanna leave you don't have to stay. I don't wanna be your guard or whatever. I like you—obviously—so I don't wanna make you feel like you're not free._

_Just... Go home and be with your family._

_OK?_

_-Loki_

Sam groaned. "What a moron." He scratched Klondike's ears and shoved the note into his pocket. "Since when does he have a goddamn conscience, huh?"

The dog sneezed at him. He laughed.

"Alright, let's go hide his candy before he gets back."

Klondike scuttled after him.

.

Loki stayed away for three days but Sam repeatedly found his meals and the dog seemed to have a doggy door—embedded in a blank wall— that led from the mansion to what appeared to be a lavish apartment so far as Sam could tell. So on the third day, Sam sat beside the little plastic flap with a salad in one hand and a fork in the other and decided to give the trickster god a piece of his mind.

"Stop acting like a child! Friendship is not an all-or-nothing deal, for one thing!" He took a rather vicious bite of his lunch. "And for another thing, even if I wanted to just abandon you even though you've been one of the only people who ever did anything nice for me, I wouldn't be able to." The sound of the TV through the flap quieted, and Sam rolled his eyes. "You obviously did not think this plan through, Loki, because that ring got destroyed. I have no way to get out of here, and you know what? I really don't give a shit." He stretched his legs out. "I'd like to visit Dean, sure, but I don't want to just leave. Got nowhere to go other than motel rooms and I like it here with you."

The sound of the television ceased completely.

"You really like it here?"

Sam flinched, and looked up at Loki standing across from him. Loki's eyes stayed glued to the carpet and his hands were shoved into his back pockets. Sam rolled his eyes and pulled himself to his feet. He left his salad on the floor, and crossed his arms, and frowned at Loki.

"You're an idiot."

Loki glared at Sam, but Sam shot him an amused look and scooped up his food and headed off down the hallway with a wave of his hand. Loki sighed and followed after him.

He watched Sam pick his way through the house with a little impressed grimace—boy knew his way around surprisingly well after technically living there for only two weeks. Sam took them to the solarium on the third floor (and Loki had forgotten he even _had_ a solarium) and settled into one of the chairs, and looked out the glass walls for a while, at the sun setting through a haze of snow. Loki sat nearby. They sat in silence for at least five minutes, and watched the heavy snowflakes fall and fall and fall. The drifts in the garden stayed the same size, and the flowers peeked from them like flame from a molten candle.

Eventually Sam cleared his throat. "You're not a god."

"Hey now!" Loki straightened up. "I find that insulting!" He pouted at Sam. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Shut up and listen to me." Sam propped his legs on a little wrought iron cocktail table and raised his eyebrows at Loki. Loki rolled his eyes and shut up. Sam snorted. "Anyway, I don't think you're really Loki. You're damn powerful, but I don't recall Loki ever having wings and a halo." Sam continued to stare at Loki, and having the unblinking concentration turned back on him made Loki fidget. He licked his lips and scowled at Sam.

"What're you implying?"

"What's your real name?" Sam crossed his arms. "Michael? Raphael?"

Loki snorted. "No. Definitely not." He pointed at Sam with comically wide eyes. "Those dickwads would never lower themselves to your level." He let out a sigh, dramatic and gusty. "I'm not like them."

Sam sighed. "Then which one are you?"

"Gabriel." He closed his eyes. "They call me Gabriel."

Sam blinked. "Seriously?!" He leaned back in his chair with a laugh. "That is too perfect. I've been living with the Archangel Gabriel for almost a month? And he sits around eating sweets and making dirty jokes and impersonating Norse gods." Sam shook his head, but smiled at Loki—at Gabriel. "You're ridiculous."

Gabriel—as he shall now be known for the sake of accuracy—shrugged and pushed a stray strand of hair from his eyes. "Yeah, well. Let's just say I never fit in well with those other winged dicks."

"Yeah?" Sam lowered his feet to the floor. "I know what you mean."

Gabriel stood up. "By the way—" His eyebrow lifted, and he pulled a mischievous face. "I may have spent the past bazillion years _impersonating_ Loki but that doesn't mean I am not a god. Ever heard of a Tulpa? It's kinda like that."

"What?" Sam frowned.

Gabriel grinned. "If enough people believe something it becomes true." He spread his arms out wide and did a little turn in the light from the gardens. "I have all the powers of an Archangel—which are numerous and awesome in the original meaning of the word—but I also have some nice Pagan perks like the fact that I am literally indestructible." He winked. "Not even an Archangel's sword could kill me. Not completely at least. I'd lose my angelic powers and Grace but I'd still have the powers of a trickster, and possibly of a god." He moved over to the wall and leaned on the glass. A flute of pink champagne materialized between his fingers. "I'm like Tinker Bell." He shot a smirk over his shoulder.

"Well okay, Loki—um... Gabriel." Sam waved his hand. "But Tinker Bell dies if no one believes in her so somehow I don't think you're all that alike."

Loki rolled his eyes. "Sam—first off, just keep calling me Loki. It's fine. Second off: Tink and I are way alike. Do you know what I do for a living?" He sipped from his glass.

"Sort of. You give people their 'just desserts' or whatever, right?"

Loki grinned. "So you _do_ listen!" He ignored Sam's exasperated sigh and continued. "Yes. I dole out justice to the foul people of the world and in doing so I kill people. A _lot _of people." He drained his champagne and the flute refilled itself almost immediately. "I'm not nice, Sam. Tink's not nice. We're both small, vindictive, bitter and jealous." He waggled his eyebrows. "And we both have glittery wings."

Sam ran both hands through his hair, pushing his bangs back from his face. He met Gabe's eyes. "But you're also pretty different. You helped a total stranger, and killed a demon for said total stranger, and you're funny and a pretty moral guy in your own screwed up way." He stood and approached Gabriel. "Not to mention, you have way better hair and dress sense."

"That can change." Gabe winked.

Sam grimaced. "Don't you dare. I prefer buttoned shirts to leaf dresses."

Gabriel let out a clear laugh. "Fine, fine." He patted Sam's shoulder. "Party pooper."

"Shut up." Sam grinned.

Gabriel chuckled.

.

"So why do you only glow at night, and stuff?" Sam sat up in his bed to look at Gabriel, who stood at the window for probably the twelfth night in a row. "Also why do you always come in _my_ room?"

Gabriel leered and Sam regretted his wording immediately. "Not what I meant, Loki."

Gabe shrugged. "I like it in here. Less empty than the rest of the house." His wings folded behind him and sent a cascade of golden light to the floor. It reminded Sam of dust motes lit up on a calm summer day. Gabriel smiled. "As for why I glow at night—Well." He leaned on the window sill. "I'm just double checking the boundaries of my little world, making sure the flowers are growing perfectly, ensuring the weather does what I want it to, etc. etc. Maintenance."

Sam nodded. He drew his knees up and crossed his arms over them, and rested his chin on his hands. "Is that how the snow level doesn't change even though it keeps snowing?"

"Yup!" Gabriel's halo sparked in the moonlight. He stared at Sam for a bit.

"By the way, if you saw my true form as an angel you'd go blind." He winked.

Sam blanched. "Uh... Good to know."

"That's why you couldn't open your eyes in the warehouse. I charmed them shut until you'd be able to look at me without burning your eyes out."

Sam pushed his blankets aside and got out of bed to pad over to Gabe. He crossed his arms against the slight chill in the air. "He was powerful, wasn't he?"

Gabriel nodded. "Yeah. He was a big one." He crooked his finger and gestured for Sam to come closer.

Sam leaned down, and Gabe planted his hands on the sides of his face so he could kiss his forehead. From the spot his lips touched, something spread with a rustle and Sam rolled his eyes when he realized it was another of those silly rose crowns. He reached up to take it off but Gabriel grabbed his wrists and shot him a warning look.

"You look cute with flowers in your hair."

His wings spread out, illuminating the room, and Gabriel disappeared.

Sam sighed, and climbed back into bed, and didn't touch the circle of roses. He lay down, and his head knocked against something hard. "Ugh." He slipped his hand into his pillow case and pulled out a hardcover book—fairy tales. A clean pink ribbon protruded from the pages, and sure enough, when Sam opened it to the marked story, he found the title page of "Beauty and the Beast" glistening up at him.

He decided to read it.

.

According to Sam's phone the date was December 31st, 11:59 pm. That explained the fireworks. It also made him realize that he had been living with Gabriel, in an alternate dimension, with little to no contact with the outside world other than his daily phone call to Dean, for almost two months. He tapped his heels against the steps, and watched Gabe run around the garden from his spot on the porch. The shorter man was setting off Roman candles and skyrockets and fountains and ground spinners. He held a bottle of Kahlúa in his free hand, and looked to be having the time of his life. Sam snorted, and snapped some photos with the admittedly crap camera on his phone. They came out blurry but colorful.

Gabe shouted something at Sam, but it was drowned out by the sudden squeal of an enthusiastic rocket Sam later learned was called a "Triple Screamer." (For good reason.)

Later, they sat side by side on the bottom step of the porch, and Gabriel said, "I'm tired of the snow. I think it's time for spring." He leaned back on his elbows and crossed his legs loosely. "What do you think, my dear moose?" Sam rolled his eyes and flicked Gabe in the ear.

Gabe hissed, "Ow!"

"Spring sounds nice." He stretched his long legs out, digging his heels into the gravel and tilting his head back to look at the sky. Many constellations he knew, and many more he'd never heard of, dusted the darkness, but as the hours drew on they faded into a burgeoning sunrise. He rested his head against one of the higher steps. "Spring is when life starts all over again, no matter how cold the winter was." He closed his eyes. "I like spring."

Gabe nudged his shoulder and Sam squinted at him.

"Isn't your birthday in the spring?"

Sam grimaced. "Jesus Christ." He stretched. "Do you know _everything_ about me?"

"Archangel Gabriel." Gabe gestured to himself. "Remember?" His eyebrows wriggled. "You prayed a lot on your birthdays. You said, 'for my birthday I don't care about presents. I just wanna be with my family. Give me another year with them.' Every year you just wanted to continue for another year with the people you cared about." Gabriel smiled to himself, and at that point Sam was staring at him. "Prayers like that from an eight year old aren't easy to forget, Cupcake."

Sam bit his lip. "Sorry for being such a depressing kid." He sighed.

Gabriel laughed. He reached a hand out and set it on Sam's arm. "Don't apologize for that, kiddo. You reminded me that there are some truly good people in the world." He smirked. "Despite all the war and famine, there are humans who genuinely care about their brethren and every prayer I ever heard from you reminded me of that." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I remember one real well... Christmas, and your daddy didn't come home. When you gave that necklace to your big brother, and that night I remember you prayed for your asshole daddy to be okay. You said, 'Dear God, I know dad must be gone for a reason, so I just hope he's okay.' And then you went on to thank the Lord for Dean and the small things in life, and well..." He looked at Sam. "It always stuck with me how selfless and faithful you were. Are."

Sam felt his face go red. The darkness obscured it, but Gabriel probably saw anyway, with his angelic powers and the like. Sam rubbed his face with a grunt. "Yeah, well, you gotta find the best in things. I was just trying not to go crazy."

"Yeah? Well, you did good." Gabe waved his hand over his head and a big bloom of white light burst in the sky in the shape of a rose, juxtaposed with the violet and indigo of a lightening sky. "You did good."

Sam smiled.

.

Sam woke up around noon to bright gold sunlight and the sound of his phone buzzing on the side table. He fumbled for it, and finally flipped it open to say, "Hello?"

"Hey, Sammy. I found dad."

Sam sat up, and nearly knocked Klondike for her spot on his feet. "What?" He pushed his bangs out of his eyes and stood. "When?"

"Well, you know I sent him a message when you told me about ol' Yellow Eyes, and apparently he finally bothered to fuckin' check his messages because he called me last night, and we met up in Wichita."

Sam frowned. "Why Wichita?"

"I dunno."

Sam shook his head. "Whatever." He walked to the window and pushed it open so that a nice breeze rustled the curtains. "What did he say?"

"He's pissed that you let yourself be held captive by a pagan god and thinks you should kill Loki before he kills you, and also he's pissed that you let yourself be trapped by three demons and uh... What did he say... Oh yeah!" Dean paused to take a breath. "He said, 'No son of mine would run away from responsibility to fraternize with a monster.' So he's pissed that you broke down when Jess died. Basically he's being totally normal and won't admit he's glad you're alive."

Sam groaned. "Why does he have to be such a jackass? Ugh."

"Hey. He's our dad, Sammy. Show some fuckin' respect."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, the phrase, 'treat others as you want to be treated' exists for a goddamn reason." He shifted the phone to his other hand.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." Dean cleared his throat. "Anyway, he wants to see you."

"I'll see what I can do, Dean. No guarantees." Sam hung up, and tossed his cell onto the bed.

He stuck his head out the window. The breeze ruffled his hair. Below, he could see Gabriel walking between rows of roses, occasionally plucking one from its stem and placing it in a basket—the kind used to harvest small plots of carrots and other plants, unpainted wicker with a handle wrapped in red and white ribbon. Sam leaned further out and let out a shout of, "Loki!"

Gabe's head snapped up and even from where he stood Sam saw the sunlight flash off his eyes. Sam waved, and Gabriel grinned and waved back at him. Rather than shout, Sam focused, closing his eyes, and prayed directly at Gabriel—"I'm gonna go wander around outside of the gates."

Gabriel shot him two thumbs up. A coin clacked to the floor beside Sam, and he bent to pick it up. A gaudy eyeball adorned one side, and the other displayed a slew of what Sam recognized as Enochian, from his days of dabbling in archaic languages for fun. He grinned. Probably a tracking coin. He twirled it between his fingers, then slipped it into his pocket before whistling to Klondike and grabbing her leash. (And that leash had to be the most ridiculous thing Sam had ever seen—all white and patterned with roses—but it was better than her diamond-encrusted collar.) He waited to hook the leash to her collar until they were well on their way down the path. He stopped at the still-impressive gate and checked the tightness of her collar. Made sure the coin still sat heavy in his pocket, and that his bag of crackers, cheese and water filched from the pantry in Gabe's bedroom was firmly shut. The key twinkled at him, in place already—probably Gabriel's doing. He turned it with a loud thunk, and pushed the doors open. They swung wide, silent.

Klondike lunged forward, and despite her small stature, managed to make Sam stumble a bit. He laughed and let her lead him away from the grounds, along the winding path in the thinly wooded forest. He marveled that Gabriel allowed a place to exist outside of the gates. It seemed a bit more effort than really necessary when he could have just focused on the garden, but here it was spring as well, and crocuses peeked through the undergrowth—along with pale white and pinkish daffodils and all manner of irises and poppies. The trees themselves budded green and bright. Sam ran with the dog, laughing, until they stopped at the largest part of the creek.

Sam felt tempted to call it a very slow-moving river, it was so wide at that point, but he figured it wasn't nearly deep or wide enough to count. He let Klondike loose from her leash, and looped it over a low-hanging branch, and sat down with his back to a tree and his lunch in his lap. He munched on crackers while Klondike splashed around in the edges of the creek.

A wild rose bush caught his eye. He'd been certain wild prickly roses only grew in the north but he remembered that technically Gabriel's little palace resided nowhere in particular, let alone California. Sam reached for the flowers, which appeared to be dying. The many thorns poked at his fingers but he plucked off several withered heads, and picked a handful of dandelions from the base of the tree. After several frustrated minutes he managed to twine them all together into a ring, thorn free and the colors of a sunrise. He turned it over in his hands, and whistled at Klondike. She bounded up to him.

"C'mere girl." He dropped it around her neck. Her tongue lolled, and she placed her paws on his leg. Sam laughed. The dog squirmed out of the flowers and nosed at them until they rested on Sam's hand. He snorted. "You want me to wear them?"

Klondike snuffled, and bobbed her head.

Sam grinned. "Alright, fine." He picked the ring of flowers up and set them on his head, adjusting them so they sat right and so his bangs didn't hang in his eyes. "Perfect fit!" Klondike bounced up and licked his nose, and he let out a laugh and pushed her down. He wiped at his nose. "Gross."

Klondike leapt into the creek with a yip. She barked at him playfully from the water. Sam snorted, and stood. "You want me to swim with you?" Her barking grew more enthusiastic. Sam shrugged, and began to strip down to his underpants. A little water wouldn't damage them, anyway. He folded his jeans and v-neck and set them in a little pile on a flat rock, with the coin on top of them. He balled his socks up in his shoes beside them. Jessica's engagement ring clinked around his neck—Gabriel had conjured up a fine gold chain for it in December when he noticed Sam carried it in the box everywhere. Wearing it as a necklace proved a lot more convenient. He briefly touched the tiny diamond on the ring and splashed into the creek after Klondike. She bounced around his ankles, and he sat down in the middle of the creek so that the water came up to his armpits. She ventured closer. Finally decided she had the skills to swim and paddled in little circles around Sam. He sprinkled some water on top of her head and she snuffled at him. He scratched her chin.

They played around in the creek for maybe an hour, until the coin glowed a bright gold, accompanied by popping sounds. Sam stood, nudged Klondike toward the shore with his foot, and planted his hands on his hips.

Sure enough, Gabriel appeared with a rustle and a handful of candy.

"Howdy, Sam!" He popped his chocolate into his mouth, eyes roving. "Nice outfit." He grinned, and raised his eyebrows. He sat on the rock beside Sam's clothes.

Sam glared at him. "Oh, shut up. Am I supposed to swim in my clothes?" He ran his hands through his hair—slightly damp from a little bit of wrestling with Klondike in the shallows—and came away with a floppy crown of flowers. He'd forgotten about it.. He snorted and tossed it at Gabriel's face. "Dry me off so I can get dressed." He snapped his fingers.

Gabriel laughed. He shook the flowers, sending a spray of water in Sam's direction, and sat it on his own head. He raised an eyebrow pointedly at Sam. "What's the magic word, kid?" He smirked. "I ain't your personal towel."

Sam kicked him in the side and then moved his foot to push Gabe down onto his back. Gabriel let him, fastening his hands around Sam's ankle. Sam knelt down, keeping his foot planted on Gabriel's chest. He grinned. "_Please_ dry me off, so I can put on my clothes." Jessica's ring sparked in the sunlight. Gabriel smiled at him, and slapped his calf. All traces of creek water on Sam's person disappeared.

"There you go, big boy." Gabriel patted Sam's abs. "Now get offa me."

Sam feigned thinking for a few seconds, then shifted so that he sat on Gabriel's stomach. "I think you make a good chair." He winked at Gabe. He reached for his shirt and pulled it on, and crossed his arms. "Nice and squishy."

Gabriel flipped his middle finger up. "Screw you, Winchester." He threw his arms out and closed his eyes. "I must be having a bad influence."

"No, I was always like this. I just never showed it to anyone except Jess and Dean." He grinned.

Gabe let out a bark of laughter. "Well, lucky me! I get to see your true side." He raised his arms and pushed against Sam's shoulders. "Now, if you don't move I'll make it so you can't shit for a week."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Fine." He rolled off of Gabriel and to his feet, and tugged on his jeans, socks and shoes in pretty quick succession. Gabe stayed on the ground and watched him dress. Klondike bounced onto his stomach and he grunted. "Goddammit. You people suck." He rubbed behind her ears and Sam laughed.

"I told you. Squishy, comfy seat."

Gabriel shoved Klondike off of his stomach and sat up. "You say that now, but if you tried to punch me you'd probably break your hand." He winked. "Angels are very sturdy."

Sam chuckled. "I'll take your word for it." He turned his face up to the sun. Gabriel kicked his shoe.

"Good. Because I don't wanna get punched."

.

Gabriel still wore the crown of half-dead wild roses and dandelions. "So... Why these sad little flowers, huh?" He picked at one of the blossoms, leaning back in his chair with an open copy of _The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty_ in his lap. Sam looked up from the toasted bagel he was buttering and shook his head.

"I dunno. I felt bad for them. Ugly flowers need love too." He shrugged, and set his knife aside. He took a bite of his bagel. "I kinda like them."

Gabe put a hand to his chest and pulled a dramatic, emotional face. "Oh, Sam Winchester!" He grinned. "That's so sickeningly kind I could just marry you." He faked a swoon, hand to his forehead.

"Screw off, Loki." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Don't speak with your mouth full." Gabe pointed an accusing finger at Sam.

Sam continued to eat and ignored Gabriel. Gabriel pouted at him, and lifted his legs to prop his feet on the table between them. He raised his eyebrows. Sam flicked a crumb at him from his plate. "Feet off the table."

Gabe grinned. "Yessir." He saluted Sam and lowered his feet to the floor.

Sam snorted and fed a bit of his bagel to the dog.

.

During that night's phone call to Dean, it became apparent that John Winchester had run out of patience. He hijacked the phone. "Sam, you listen to me. I want you to leave that place and do what you were raised to do." He paused long enough to let Sam interject half a word before continuing. "I am your father, and your blood, and I don't want you hanging around with some goddamn monster."

Sam ground his teeth, willing himself not to snap at his father, but he was tempted nonetheless. "Dad, I know you think you know what's best for me, but you're not always right." He sat beside Gabriel on a loveseat in the solarium. The moonlight streamed through the glass walls and ceiling and highlighted everything with silver. "And Loki's not a monster."

John grunted. "Right. Just a Pagan god who takes sacrifices and kills people."

Sam let out a groan. "He doesn't take sacrifices! No one does that shit anymore and if they tried he'd probably kick their ass. He's not even a—he deals justice! Not death." Sam took a deep breath, and Gabriel reached out to give his knee a reassuring squeeze. "He only kills bad people, just like we do. And he saved my life _twice_. You know that. Shouldn't we be thanking him?" Sam grimaced.

"A hunter's gratitude is _not killing him_, Sam. He should be grateful I haven't found a way to cap his ass."

Gabriel snorted beside Sam, and Sam elbowed him in the side. Gabe rolled his eyes. His expressions sent a pretty clear signal of _I'd love to see him try_. Sam pursed his lips.

"He's impossible to kill, for one thing—and no, before you ask, I didn't try." Sam plucked a cookie from the plate on the table—a snickerdoodle—and took a bite before continuing. "Also, this place is still in a different dimension, and I like it here. Like I said." Sam threw his arm over the back of the couch. Gabe leaned his head against Sam's shoulder and looked up at him with his best attempt at puppy-dog eyes. Sam grinned at him and rolled his eyes. Gabe reached up to fiddle with Jess' ring around Sam's neck.

"I'm disappointed in you, Sam."

Sam let out a puff of half-laughter. "No, you feel threatened by me because I'm not the perfect macho soldier." He scoffed. "Sorry to disappoint, _Sir_, but I never was and I never will be."

"Son, you're a hunter and a fighter, born and bred, and a hunter never leaves the life."

Sam laughed. "Well, if no hunters have ever left the life then maybe I'll be the first one." He hung up. "Self-absorbed bastard."

Gabriel pried the phone from Sam's hand and tossed it onto the table before sitting back against the cushions again and resting his head against Sam's arm. "Sounds like a bag of dicks." He patted Sam's cheek.

Sam smiled with a sigh. "Yeah. Well." He shrugged. "Can't choose family."

Gabriel shook his head. "Damn shame, too." He licked his lips, and munched on a bar of chocolate. Klondike bounded over to them, tail wagging a mile a minute, and jumped up into Sam's lap. Sam rubbed her belly with a chuckle.

Five minutes later, mouth stuffed with half a cookie, Gabriel exclaimed, "Let's just get married!"

Sam choked on his coffee. "What?!" He set his mug down on the table and turned to stare at Gabe.

Gabriel swallowed his snickerdoodle and shrugged with a broad grin. His eyes crinkled at the corners. "You hunters are all super family oriented, right? And I realized you _can_ pick family. Through marriage." He winked, and crossed his arms behind his head. "And who wouldn't want a piece of this?" His eyebrows wagged.

Sam looked at him, and snorted. He shook his head with a smirk. "Listen, Loki." He paused. "_Gabe_."

Gabriel blushed and shoved another cookie into his mouth.

"Don't you think marriage is kind of outta nowhere?" Sam leaned close and slung his arm around Gabriel's shoulders. "I mean, we've never even kissed." He raised both his eyebrows in an emphatic stare.

Gabe grinned. "Oh, but we have. Remember? In November?"

"You got me, there." Sam held his hands up in mock surrender. "But, I still think marriage is out of the question. I knew Jessica for two_ years_ before I thought of proposing—but you knew that. You know everything about me." He reached up to muss Gabriel's hair. "Weirdo."

Gabe swatted his hand away but didn't bother to fix his hair. "That's true." He looked at Sam for a long time without speaking. "So how 'bout this?" He spread his hands. "I haven't been laid in years, and you are hot, and life is very long. So let's start out small." He winked. "Hand-holding, kissing, cuddling, watching movies, hardcore bondage—you know, normal stuff."

"Fine, fine." A laugh escaped Sam. He pulled Gabriel closer to his side. "No bondage, though." He kissed Gabe on the top of the head. Gabriel kissed him back on the mouth, smiling and handsy.

"Damn."

Klondike stretched up to lick their faces.

.

"Dude, no."

"Dude, _yes_!" Gabriel rolled out of the bed and popped to his feet fully clothed. Sam glared at him.

"I really doubt my dad believes in angels, for one thing." He sat up against the headboard. "And for another thing, he would kill you for plucking him from God knows where to just show up in an alternate dimension." He crossed his arms, and stared at Gabriel with his most serious bitchface.

Gabriel rolled his eyes and sat on the edge of the bed. He threw himself onto his back with his arms spread-eagled. "Just tell him I'm not a damn pagan beast, at least." He caught Sam's eye. "And anyway, I've been integrating the grounds into western Washington." He gestured above him. "It's a pain in the ass keeping everything perfect all the time and I've got way better things to do with you here."

Sam let out a chuckle. "You're an idiot."

Gabriel winked at him.

Sam nudged him with his feet. "Fine, I'll tell my dad I'm screwing an angel and hope he dies of shock."

"Now wait a minute! Just who is doing whom in this relationship?" Gabe smacked Sam's leg.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "If I'd realized you were _senile_ I never would have slept with you."

Gabriel flipped him off.

.

"I don't care if he's _God_, Sam. I want him out of your life."

Sam glowered up at the sky, on his back beside Gabe, in the new meadow behind the house. "I literally do not care what you want."

Gabriel picked at the grass and found enough clover blossoms to string together into a crown. He leaned across Sam to kiss him and dropped the ring of clover onto his face. Sam rolled his eyes and pulled it up into a more crown-like position. "So you guys can come visit us to thank him for saving my life twice, or you can screw off."

"Sam—"

"Put Dean on."

The phone went silent.

Finally, "Sammy, what the hell did you say?! He's pissed!"

Sam gave his brother a noncommittal grunt. "I basically told him to fuck off." Gabriel laughed beside him, and reached out to pet the dog napping by his hips. Dean spluttered.

"What?! Jesus Christ, Sammy!"

Sam sighed. "Whatever, Dean. Just... I'll tell you where this place is and you, at least, can drop by and say hello. I haven't seen you in months." He rolled onto his side and wrapped his free arm around Gabriel's waist.

"...Yeah, okay." Dean could be clearly heard rummaging in his duffel for something to write with. Sam handed the phone to Gabe.

Gabriel smirked. "I'll give you the coordinates." He rattled off some numbers with way too many decimals and then some more numbers for good measure, and went on to say, "Now, there wasn't a road before, but there should be by the time you get here. Just go west from Chehalis, Washington and turn at the giant sign that says Trickster Drive." He handed the phone back to Sam.

"Just call us when you get to Chehalis." Sam glared at Gabriel. "I'll try to look up directions."

Dean grumbled but consented, and they said their respective goodbyes. Sam dropped the phone onto the picnic blanket. He rolled onto Gabriel. "You couldn't have put this place somewhere with roads? What'll I get if I look those coordinates up on Google Maps, huh?" He raised his eyebrows.

Gabriel laughed and wrapped his arms around Sam's neck and pressed their lips together. He spoke through kisses. "Relax, kiddo." He tangled his fingers in Sam's hair. "I actually added a road this morning. Like I said, Trickster Drive. I'll fix the internet so it shows up but right now it gets as far as Lewandowski Road before fucking up and telling you to turn left onto a destination labeled 'Unknown Road.'" He snorted. "I needed the space and the climate. It was a good match in a jiffy. No more creek though." He pouted against Sam's mouth. Sam rolled his eyes.

"You have a pool on the roof."

Gabe grinned. "True."

.

Sam stared at the grounds. "The roses changed color." He pursed his lips. "Those roses are _blue_."

"What? The laws of physics are not mine to follow." Gabriel waved his hand before reaching down to run his thumb along the petal of a rose the color of a bluebird's egg. Other colors scattered their way through the bushes, such as a deep wine red and indigo. He twirled his finger and some powder pink blooms unfolded among the leaves.

Sam blinked. "...Alright." He shook his head. "Dean should be here in about a half hour if Google Maps is right." He trailed after Gabriel. Drew up behind him and wrapped his arms around him. A few drops of rain fell from the sky, but it remained mostly sunny, with a mild temperature and a light breeze. Gabe leaned back against him with a grin.

"Can't wait to see the looks on their faces when they see this place." He snorted. "Probably the biggest place they'll ever stay in."

Sam laughed. "Probably."

Gabriel reached up and tugged on Sam's bangs, before smirking and pulling him down so that they sat down between the rows of roses. He plucked a small, somewhat ragged blue bud and tucked it behind Sam's ear. Sam rolled his eyes. But he smiled, and touched the soft petals. He'd never seen an imperfect or budding rose the entire time he'd lived in Gabriel's mansion. Every rose had always been perfect and in full bloom. No blemishes. That had begun to change, almost unnoticeably so. Like the weather.

Now, of course, the weather would be left mostly to the whims of the Pacific Northwest.

Speaking of— at that point, with the two of them nestled between rows of flowers, clouds began to chase across the sky and overtake its low, bright blue until the sun's light shone murky through a screen of gray. As yet more fat drops of rain fell from the clouds, Klondike barked from the porch. No doubt trying to warn them of the impending weather. Gabriel laughed and whistled at her loud and clear.

The sky seemed to split, then. A few scattered drops here and there turned to a rushing hiss of water, cool and mist-like. It never rained like this at Stanford, or in Kansas, or anywhere else Sam had lived before. It was fresh and clean and surprisingly pleasant. The smell of wet dirt drifted up from under their hands. Gabriel grinned, and turned his face up to the shower, and dug his fingers into the damp soil—quickly becoming mud.

Klondike let out a series of excited yips and threw herself down the front steps to bound over and barrel into Sam's lap. She nosed his neck and he laughed. "Down, girl." He pushed her back gently, and she settled onto her rump, tail thwacking against the ground. Gabriel chuckled and patted her head with a soft croon. She licked his hand.

They watched the rain coat the grounds in glistering light, the three of them, and sat in the mud until the grumbling purr of the Impala's engine drifted out over the grounds. Sam stood, and paused in dismay to survey the damage to the seat of his pants before Gabriel rolled his eyes and snapped them both clean. Sam smiled, and pulled Gabriel to his feet. The Winchester family's black car pulled in between the open gates and rolled to a stop just inside—for easy escape, if Sam knew anything about his brother. He scoffed. The doors swung open, and Sam was surprised to see his father climb out of the driver's side, with Dean going out the passenger door. Sam crossed his arms.

John shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and seemed to try not to glare. He did spectacularly badly. Dean moved first, and strode forward to tug Sam into a rib-snapping hug. Sam wrapped his arms around his big brother and muttered, "Hey, Dean. It's been a while."

"Too damn long." Dean slapped Sam on the back (presumably to negate the chick flick moment of an emotional hug) and stepped back to appraise him. "You look good, Sammy." He grinned, thumbs hooked through his belt loops. Sam shook his head with a bright smile.

"I feel good." He shrugged.

Gabriel cleared his throat. Loudly. "My name's Gabriel." He stuck his hand out. "If you call me 'Gabe,' I'll slit your throat with a letter opener." His face remained serious for a beat, and then he winked and broke out into a broad smirk.

Dean frowned, but his grin returned after a second and he shook Gabe's hand. "Nice to meet you. Dean Winchester." He raised an eyebrow. "If you hurt my baby brother I'll rip your lungs out." His expression tightened but stayed cheery.

Gabriel laughed. He glanced down at the dog and said to her, "Klondike, I like this guy. Don't piss in his boots."

The dog's tongue lolled out and she woofed.

Dean eyed her with mild disdain.

A crack resounded through the trees—loud and echoing. Gabriel and Dean turned their heads in the same movement to stare at John Winchester. Sam's attention went straight to the smoking hole in Gabe's forehead. Gabriel stumbled somewhat before regaining his footing with a hand gripping Sam's jacket, and his eyes flickered with a golden light. His body rejected the bullet and his glare grew thunderous, reaching a peak of fury when the little hunk of silver clinked to the gravel under their feet.

"Ow." He straightened his spine. Sam kept a hand at his back, still worried. Gabriel gave his limbs an experimental shake, and stretched his neck with a grimace. He leveled his gaze on John once more. "Don't you know it's rude to shoot people?" His eyebrows shot into his hairline.

Sam removed his attention from Gabe, and redirected it toward his father with a scowl.

John Winchester holstered his gun. "Just making sure."

"Just—" Sam balked. "Are you _kidding_ me right now? 'Just making sure'? What if he _hadn't_ been immortal, huh?" He attempted to approach his father but Dean held him back with an outheld arm and a mumbled,

"Calm down, Sammy."

Sam's jaw tightened but he took a step back. He held his hands up, palms out. "Fine. Get out."

Beside him, Gabriel said nothing, but the beginnings of a smirk tugged at his lips. Klondike whined at his feet. Sam rubbed his temple and repeated himself, "Get out of here."

John frowned. "Now listen here, Sam—"

"OUT!"

Sam's arm shot out, hand in a fist with the index finger extended toward the gate. He gritted his teeth. John threw his hands up, and slammed his way back into the Impala. Dean rubbed his hands over his face, shot Sam an apologetic look and mouthed_ I'll call you_ before running back to the car and hopping in. The engine started with a thick snarl. The car peeled out of the gates with a crackle of gravel and shot down the road, sending up a sheet of water.

The rain stopped.

"I like it when you get all angry and demanding, Sambo." Gabriel slid his arm through Sam's with a wink. Sam sighed.

"Sorry."

Gabe jostled his arm and laughed. He tugged Sam around and pulled their faces close, one hand on the back of Sam's neck to hold him in place. "It's fine." He smiled. "It's cute." He pressed their mouths together—surprisingly chaste.

Sam rolled his eyes but leaned into the kiss, letting Gabriel support him more fully.

A beam of sunlight sliced through the ceiling of clouds and sent a swathe of sparks through the rows of wet roses.

Klondike's tail beat the mud

"You spent a few years ignoring your dad." Gabriel nipped his way along Sam's jawline. He covered each little bite mark with kisses. "I think you can ignore him for a few more, kiddo." Sam reached up to turn Gabe's face in the direction he wanted, and mouthed at the edges of Gabriel's lips. He slid his fingers back through Gabriel's hair.

"Less talking, Loki." Sam pulled lightly on Gabe's hair. "Just make sure they can find a motel."

Gabriel laughed, and snapped his fingers, and wrapped his arms around Sam's waist.

"Done."

Sam growled low in his throat. "Good." He settled his hands on Gabe's shoulders. Walked him backwards, kissing the whole time, until Gabriel's heels hit the first step of the porch. Gabriel took a moment to gather himself, and shot Sam a smirk. He raised his hand and snapped again.

Klondike found herself alone in the drive with crushed blue rose petals scattered across the pink gravel.

.

Every night thereafter, Gabriel proposed to Sam—sometimes standing in the doorway, sometimes lying beside him tangled in the sheets, sometimes staring out the window. Often with a rose in hand, or a bar of chocolate. Sam always said, "Loki, I think you've been reading too many fairytales."

Gabriel always laughed. "Yeah."

Then Sam would apologize, and Gabe would muss up his hair, or kiss him, or pinch his arm.

.

Dean came by again as soon as he was able. He left their father behind at the motel.

The black of the Impala looked out of place against the delicately coordinated colors of the rose garden and gravel. Sam and Dean sat together on the porch, each with a beer in hand, looking out on nothing in particular. Gabriel wrestled with Klondike in the driveway, a sucker clamped firmly between his teeth.

"So... Wait, what the hell is his name, now?" Dean leaned back on his elbows, taking a swig from his bottle. He raised an eyebrow at his little brother.

Sam snorted. "Dean, Klondike is a female dog." He smirked.

Dean glared at him and elbowed him in the side. "That's not who I meant, and you know it." He avoided Sam's half-hearted punch.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Gabriel. You know, the Archangel?" He swirled his beer, eyes downturned, and stretched his legs out from the steps. "I still call him Loki, though. Unless I'm mad." He shook his head. Beside him, Dean laughed.

"C'mon, man! You're one of _those_ people?!" He reached over to mess up Sam's hair. "I bet if you ever had a kid and got angry, you'd be all, 'Robert Percival Winchester, you get your behind into the bath right this second!'" On the last sentence, he hitched his voice up an octave, in a futile effort to sound how he imagined a housewife might. Sam swatted his shoulder, and Dean chuckled into his beer. Sam huffed.

"Percival, Dean? Really?" Sam drew his arm back, and slung his bottle in a high arc across the driveway. Gabe paused in his playing with the dog to snap his fingers, and the brown glass bottle melted into nothing midair. Gabriel waved at them. Sam waved back, and Dean pantomimed gagging.

"Shut up. Percival is an _awesome_ name." Dean set his now empty bottle on the step beside his feet.

Sam scoffed. "Whatever." He rolled to his feet, and stretched his arms over his head until his shoulders cracked, and loped over to Gabriel and Klondike. Gabe dragged him down to sit in the gravel, so that Klondike could reach his face to lick it vigorously. Gabriel laughed. Sam grinned. Dean watched them with a smile—glad to see his baby brother having fun and smiling. He sighed, happy just to be in the same area as the gangly kid he raised from an early age.

They horsed around until sundown, and even Dean got involved—wrestling with his brother and eventually overpowering him through his more thorough knowledge of self-defense and the like. They lay together in a heap on the drive, with Gabriel perched on Sam's chest with the dog in his arms.

An unmistakable sound carried through the trees, and light flashed between their trunks.

John Winchester's big black truck rumbled between the wide open gates.

Gabriel didn't stand so much as snap upright within a split second, and glowered toward the intrusion. Sam sat, and Dean shot to his feet. Klondike curled herself around Sam's waist with a growl. Her claws clicked against the gravel.

The driver's door of the truck swung open smooth and dark, sunlight glinting hot off the slick paint and glass—polished to within an inch of its life. John Winchester's hands were empty, held out to his sides, palms turned forward. A dark, handsome, leather-clad figure reminiscent of Christ, but sinister. He elbowed the truck door shut and it let out a bang that made the dog flinch. Sam reached out to her without a word and pressed his hand to her head to soothe her jitters. She whined, and he hushed her gently.

The sound of John's footsteps crunched too loud and Sam wondered where the birdsong had gone.

"Stand up, Sam."

Sam shot his father an icy, disbelieving stare before gripping at Klondike's collar and saying, "Fuck you."

"Sam Winchester, you do what I tell you _right now_." John shifted in the way that always signaled he meant Business and glowered at his son. Behind Sam, Dean stiffened, uneasy. To his side, Gabriel curled his hands into fists. Sam crossed his arms, set his jaw and flared his nostrils—stubborn and a little like a child with his lips pursed.

"No. I'm not some little kid you can boss around anymore, dad!" Sam pulled a face. "Not your soldier."

John heaved an irritated sigh, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Sam—Sammy." He met his son's eyes. "I don't want you to get hurt. I need you to move." The overcast light glinted off his ring, and something else in the edge of his jacket.

Sam frowned further. "I don't think..." He met his father's eyes, and recognized the steely resolve they held, and heaved himself to his feet. But he gripped Gabe's shoulder and pulled him close—until their bodies touched. He gritted his teeth and stared his father down. "What are you planning?" Gabriel shifted under his touch, but didn't pull away.

John's face betrayed nothing. But again, a glint sparked from his inner pocket. Like glass, or metal.

Sam's fingers tightened.

John turned his eyes to the sky in exasperation and pulled a bottle of mezcal from his coat. Sam's forehead crinkled, but he stayed where he stood. Waited to see what John was doing. John shook his head and walked past them. He opened the bottle. The sunlight, filtered through a thin layer of clouds, glinted of the mouth of the bottle. He swished the liquid thoughtfully, as he reached the front steps, then tilted the bottle so that a trail of pale alcohol followed him across the porch and through the front doors.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing?!" Gabriel broke away from Sam, seemingly prepared to storm toward John. "That flooring is expensive!"

John turned, a curious expression on his face, and in so doing he splashed a circle around himself. "Well, a beast like you can just conjure up a new goddamn house, so I don't see why you care." He spread his arm out in an arc, and more mezcal hit the floor, sending up droplets the color of canola oil. He emptied the bottle until the larvae at the bottom slid out and plopped to the floor. Then he threw the bottle to the ground. It shattered into miniscule shards against the hard marble.

Gabe snarled, and snapped his fingers, appearing directly in front of John. He leaned up into his space. "You are the most disrespectful son of a bitch I have ever had the misfortune to meet." His eyes glinted, hard, his pupils tiny black dots in a pool of chill bronze. Threatening. Despite his small size compared to the hunter, he loomed. Crackled with energy.

Then John sneered, and raised his hand. His silver lighter flashed in the dimming sunlight streaming through the front doors. He flicked it open, flicked it on, dropped it, and ran.

Greasy orange flames clawed up to form a ring around Gabriel, and trickled along the path of what they'd thought was alcohol in a long twining line. John Winchester laughed, and crossed his arms. "Holy Oil!" He grinned harshly, teeth bared. "Can't get out of a ring of that stuff, and from what I've read it's the only thing that'll kill you angels." He turned and walked toward his truck. "Sam, get in the car with Dean. Dean, we're leaving." He opened his door.

Sam stood his ground with a hard look and a set jaw. "No." Dean stared at him.

John slammed his door shut again and approached Sam, stern, threatening. At Sam's feet, Klondike barked, then snarled viciously. Sam had never heard her growl like that ever before. He kept his eyes locked on his father.

John raised a hand, but before he could do anything a streak of red lightning shattered the previously tranquil sky. Black clouds rolled in and the ground shuddered. Thunder didn't rumble so much as roar through the trees. The rows of roses lining the drive went blacker than pitch and their thorns lengthened. Several loud cracks echoed from behind Sam, and they all looked toward the house. Fire still burned around Gabriel, but it had gone blinding white and stuttering, reddish at the tips of the tongues of flame. Gabriel's face held a terrifying fury. Rain began to fall from the clouds.

"John Winchester. If you touch that boy I will _kill_ you."

The Trickster. The one Sam never saw—the one who doled out punishment to the cruel people of the world. The avenging angel Gabriel.

Sam's breath caught in his throat.

John's eyes narrowed, and his arm shot out, fingers fastening in Sam's shirt collar.

The circle of flames flared in a violent burst of light, briefly washing out the world accompanied by a loud rush of air and the whisper of feathers. The light faded after a few tense seconds, and Sam peered out through the driving rain. Gabriel's wings fanned out sparking and golden behind him, and around him was darkness, broken only by the soft glow from his halo. Black marks marred the marble floor, cracked and buckling. Gabriel's eyes flashed out at them. Jet colored brambles scrabbled up the sides of the mansion and the chandelier swung as chunks of plaster fell from the ceiling.

"Sam Winchester is _mine_."

He did not step out of the house.

He didn't move.

He flickered out of existence in a static-y crackle, and reappeared directly in front of Sam and John, with his fingers clamped tight around John's arm. His eyes shone with a white-hot, golden-tinged light much like his halo—not a thin ring of brass like in cartoons, but a heavy disc of brightness the heat of which distorted the air around his head with red pulsing energy. His wings glittered in the cloud-induced blackness, and the rain evaporated around him.

John winced, tensing.

Gabriel's eyes fastened onto him. If his pupils were tiny before, now they were the complete opposite—Sam could barely see a trace of his irises-his eyes just deep inky darkness with the narrowest band of green-gold.

Slowly, John's fingers loosened in Sam's collar, and then pulled away. He took a step back.

Gabriel's grip remained strong. He moved with John, locked like a sun and a planet. Bent John's arm toward him, then in a whirl of movement pinned both of John's arms behind his back and forced him to his knees. His breath came out past John's ear in a rush of heat, rippling the air. His voice crackled with energy.

"The only thing I hate more than an absent father is an overbearing father."

His halo flashed as his head turned—a slice of light sliding along its edge whiter than the sun.

"So, John Winchester, I suggest you _leave_."

He released John.

John lurched to his feet, and shot a terrified glare at Gabriel before snarling, "You corrupted my son, you monster." He inhaled shaky and loud before rushing to his big ugly truck—not running, but certainly not walking. The door slammed shut and the engine howled and the tires scraped against the gravel and he was gone in a spray of rainwater and pink quartz. The rain slowed, but lightning continued to squeal through the bruised clouds accompanied by peals of thunder that rattled the windows of the Impala and vibrated through Sam's chest.

Gabriel stood in a pool of his own light, with his wings outstretched—two to the sky, two to the side, two to the ground. His halo dulled from bright blue-white to cherry red to a burnished golden color and the air around him lost its shimmer as he cooled. His breath came in harsh, jagged pants, and his eyes returned to their normal state. His wings drooped, and disintegrated as the lessening rain drops hit the semi-translucent feathers. He closed his eyes, then opened them and looked at Sam.

"Whoops."

He smirked.

Sam blinked hard, licked his lips, chewed on his nail. "What just happened?" Behind him, Dean gaped. The dog cowered at Sam's feet.

Gabe grimaced and rubbed his forehead. His halo twinkled out of existence, and for all appearances he seemed normal and human. And a bit damp. He rolled his eyes. Snapped his fingers. The rain stopped—the lightning and thunder calmed and the clouds lightened. He sighed. "Let my temper get away from me a bit." He kicked at a stone by his shoe.

"I—" Sam shook his head, almost disbelieving. "I could see that. You didn't... hurt him, did you?"

With a scoff, Gabriel straightened his jacket collar. "Nah. He probably pissed his pants though." He shot Sam a rueful grin and a shrug. Looked almost guilty. But not quite. "Just... You know, you're here of your own free will and he was just ordering you around like that. I... That shit really grinds my gears. So I snapped. Let out the ol' Archangel guns." He turned his face to the sky. The clouds pulled apart like wet cotton candy under his gaze. Sunlight streamed down from a perfect blue sky, highlighting the wet edges of the now-black and threatening roses filling the garden. He snapped again, and the roses shriveled in on themselves and collapsed into dust. Delicate green tendrils sprouted up from the ashes within seconds, unfurling soft thornless pink buds.

The sharp vines choking the house recoiled into the ground, and the manor straightened itself out 'til it shone bright and clean once more.

Sam nodded. He tasted ozone and burnt chocolate in the back of his mouth. "Okay." He bit his lip. "Never do that again, alright?"

"Deal." Gabriel approached, hands up, palms out, peaceful. Klondike dared to sniff his loafers, and upon finding nothing to worry about, twined herself in between his legs. He chuckled and leaned down to pet her. Briefly, her ears flattened and she flinched away. But then she pressed her snout into his delicate-fingered hands. He beamed.

Dean finally closed his mouth. "What the _hell_, man?"

Gabriel smirked at him. "What?" His expression slipped a bit, but stayed cheeky. "Feeling inadequate?"

Dean rolled his eyes. He shoved his hands into his pocket and snorted. "I'm..." He cleared his throat. "You guys got an extra room?" He cracked a crooked half-smile.

"Anything for Sammich's big bro."

.

That night Dean stayed in a room on the first floor, near to the front—helped him feel at ease to be near an exit he could easily find.

Upstairs, Sam and Gabriel retreated to Gabe's room, and Klondike settled in the crook of Sam's knees.

They lay in the soft darkness, with a gentle pink glow hazing through the window and reflecting off of the mirror in the corner. Gabriel enjoyed the quiet sound of Sam's breathing and the steady thump of his heart where his chest pressed against Gabe's shoulders. Gabriel closed his eyes and reached his hand up to grasp Sam's. "I know I say this every night, Sam, but... I figure hey—Maybe the Beast was onto something with those daily proposals. He got the girl in the end, after all." His mouth quirked. "Marry me?"

Sam smiled. "Not tonight." Same as always. "Try again tomorrow."

Jessica's ring pressed a warm circle against Gabriel's back. He hoped it left a little round mark, because it always reminded him of how powerful love was and how amazing humans could be. He turned in Sam's hold and trailed light kisses up from the ring to Sam's jaw.

"Alright."

They fell asleep tangled in each other's arms. (Even though Gabriel didn't really need to sleep.)


End file.
